White Lies
by Momerath
Summary: Even for Merlin, the white lie at the end of The Last Dragonlord is a whopper. How can he expect to get away with that one? Spoilers for all of S2.
1. Chapter 1

**White Lies **

Set post-The Last Dragonlord

Will be Merlin/Arthur (friendship)

None of the characters are mine, unfortunately.

******

At first, the king thinks his son is lying to him. He makes him repeat it all again, and watches him closely. No, Arthur is delirious with joy, relief and pride, fringed with a slight disappointment at Uther's non-reaction. He's telling the truth. But Uther doesn't believe him.

"You killed the Great Dragon," he says, carefully keeping his tone devoid of any emotion at all, "with a single strike of a spear?"

"Yes!" beams Arthur, radiating such happiness that what remains of Camelot's bedraggled court become infected with the same delight. They look around – tired, grieving, wounded – but exhilarated by their prince's victory.

'No, you didn't,' thinks Uther. He's many things – but he's a man who knows his limits. How can you push things to the limit when you don't know where it is? You don't kill dragons with a single lucky strike. You just don't. You don't kill dragons at all, not without dragonlords and sorcerers. He used them to kill the dragons, and then he killed them. Divide and conquer. Arthur didn't kill the Great Dragon. Even Uther hadn't been able to kill the Great Dragon. That's why he had locked him up.

"You saw him to die?" he says, lightly. "We should go and take his body has a trophy."

Arthur's flushed face looks momentarily crestfallen. "Well, he limped off," he explains. "Mortally wounded."

Ah.

"You saw him?" Uther asks, cautious to keep disbelief from his voice. He wants the court nobles to go on believing, for as long as necessary, that they are all safe. They needed it, for the moment. And the townspeople cannot take any more fear. For once court and town are united. "Where was he wounded?"

Arthur is now becoming dejected. "He knocked me out," he admits, unhappily. He brightens again, as he waves his hand toward his omnipresent servant and declares, "but Merlin saw the whole thing."

Merlin. Now Uther is getting somewhere. "How could you know," he says in his friendliest interrogative tone, "how could you know it was a mortal blow?"

The boy nervously describes how the dragon was bleeding from his chest, howling in pain, staggering, no creature could survive it. Arthur looks back and forth, proudly. Uther is used to people being nervous around him. He's worked hard to make sure they are. He knows the difference between nerves and lying. Merlin is lying to him. Uther looks straight at Gaius. Gaius looks back, implacably, he had expected the gaze. They stare at each other, both faces completely impassive.

He trusts Gaius completely. Not to tell him everything, certainly not. Gaius has many secrets. Many of them unpalatable to Uther, doubtless. You can't trust someone who appears to be always on your side – from the start, the relationship is a lie. But he trusts Gaius about the important things. The things he tells him are the things he has to hear. He doesn't mind Gaius having split loyalties. He trusts his ultimate loyalty is to Camelot. He trusts him about Nimeuh, and about Morgause, and about Balinor. The question he is now weighing is whether he can trust Gaius about Merlin.

"It's always you, isn't it, Merlin?" observes Uther, sitting. Merlin looks panicked for a moment. Uther smiles; he's releasing him, for now, he wants to make clear, but it isn't over. He glances back at Gaius, who keeps expressionless. "You both did well," he says to the boys, and adds a few platitudes about the dead knights. He dismisses the court.

Arthur tries to stay. He wants to apologise, about taking a stand before, about not listening, about going for the last dragonlord...Uther waves a hand, without looking at his son. "Think nothing of it," he says. He can tell Arthur is bemused by this sudden lack of interest in discipline. But Uther's thinking, fast, about more important things than his son's nascent kingship. It's always Merlin, isn't it? Merlin gave him that sword which killed the dead. Even Gaius was stunned. Merlin knew Prince Valiant's shield was enchanted before anyone else, Merlin knew Arthur's goblet was poisoned, Merlin was the only person around when Cornelius Sigan's soul mysteriously got back into the jewel and Merlin was there when Igraine appeared to Arthur; Merlin was the only person there when Morgana was taken by Morgause. Merlin says a dragon can be killed with a single strike from a spear. He says he saw it happen.

Uther sits to have a think.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all so much for your kind words about the first chapter, I really appreciate it! It made be warm inside. I'm trying out something new, and wasn't sure it was working. I hope you enjoy the next parts. It's a bit more Merlin/Arthur than before, but will be coming back to Uther later, as well.

**White Lies Chapter Two **

Arthur tells the story about the Dragon over and over again during the next month, with a grasp of detail and energy belying the fact that he spent a substantial amount of the drama unconscious. It becomes a famous tale amongst his new knights – younger knights, less impressive pedigrees, maybe, but even keener than before and utterly devoted to Arthur. Knights for whom their first loyalty is to the man who leads them confidently in a dangerous world, a man who says they can be knights, a man who can kill dragons. The Dragon becomes their cause celebre. After a horrible day's training, they want to hear the story and relive the glory. It's their good luck charm. Arthur Pendragon, slayer of dragons. The golden dragon on their shields has come to represent the Great Dragon, killed by their prince.

Merlin listens, he likes hearing the story. He doesn't care he doesn't get the credit for the end of the Dragon's campaign of terror; he's just relieved he doesn't get the blame for it starting. Except from himself; when he can't sleep at night and remembers the cries of the dying knights.

And then an urgent message arrives from Strathclyde. The Great Dragon has been spotted near the forest of Calidon. "But I killed it," says Arthur, angrily, petulantly, as Merlin's blood seems to freeze him his veins. He has a sensation of being still, as the ground rushes towards him.

The carrier of the message is an old comrade of Uther in the bad old days. "I saw it myself, sire," he tells Uther, "it is the same beast."

And Uther believes him, everyone can tell.

*****

"How can my father think I'm lying?" storms Arthur, he's throwing his armour around his room, pouting.

Merlin follows him around, picking up the armour, looking sick, because he knows Uther doesn't think Arthur is lying. Uther knows that Merlin is.

"I killed the Dragon," says Arthur, turning to Merlin, looking fierce. "Didn't I?"

"Yes," says Merlin, "you did." Because the lie is so famous now it's practically independent of reality. But Arthur isn't stupid. Merlin feels dull, as though he is moving slightly slower than the world around him. Even the sounds seem muffled.

Arthur is still staring at him, eyes narrowing; the same, hunter look in his eyes as the one which was in his father's that evening after the Dragon had supposedly had been killed. Merlin puts the armour away, but knows that Arthur is following the train of thought to its logical conclusion. "You're the only person who says that," he walks towards him now, voice low. "You're the only person who says I killed him."

Merlin has no answer. He thinks if he opens his mouth he'll be sick. He opens the cupboard and throws the armour in.

"How," says Arthur, standing right behind him, coldly. "How, if the Dragon was killed, is he in Strathclyde?"

"Maybe he wasn't killed," replies Merlin, clicking the cupboard shut. "I thought he was killed. He was bleeding..." He stops, because he doesn't even sound convincing to himself. His life in Camelot has been fraught, he has felt he hates it on many occasions, and now the certain knowledge that it has come to an end in its current form is devastating. He keeps his back to Arthur. He can't face him. He's too guilty.

Arthur's voice has dropped to a practical whisper. "Everyone thinks I killed it," he says, accusingly, "and now I'm a liar. And vainglorious. And dishonourable. Everyone thinks I killed it, and it isn't true."

A dragon couldn't disappear. Merlin had been stupid. Why had he said the Dragon had been killed? It was stupid. But so many other stupid lies had been accepted, he had got lazy. He had got as power mad as the Dragon, he had thought none of his lies could be found out, he had thought he would be trusted implicitly, he had thought he was infallible. He had thought he was cleverer than anyone else. And now Arthur knows the extent of his disloyalty and deception, even if he hasn't realised that he knows it yet. Merlin has given Arthur the tools for his own downfall. And it's all Merlin's fault; it's all his arrogance, and Arthur's humiliation. Merlin feels as though he is bursting from his skin with despair and anger and frustration at his own overconfidence.

"I didn't kill it," says Arthur, dully. "It_ let me live_."

He sounds almost in tears.

*****

It becomes the national joke. Prince Arthur can't tell when a dragon is dead. Prince Arthur says he killed a dragon when really the dragon got bored with him. Prince Arthur is a chip off the old block. Prince Arthur is a liar.

Arthur can't face Merlin now. He recoils from him. He won't take clothes from him; he makes him lay them on the bed. He doesn't look at Merlin when he talks to him, and when he does talk its in short orders. There's no banter. He waits until Merlin leaves the room before eating the food he's brought, sometimes Merlin wonders if he gets Gwen to bring him different meals, but then thinks he's being paranoid. Arthur doesn't think Merlin is dangerous, but he does think he's a liar. But then Merlin _is _a liar. Arthur's flaws are myriad, but he values honesty, above anything else. He doesn't mention the Dragon to Merlin, he doesn't really talk to Merlin at all, mostly he ignores him. The things he says to Merlin could be addressed to any servant in the castle. Arthur doesn't trust Merlin anymore. He doesn't like him anymore. It's as simple as that.

The knights don't trust Arthur as much, either. Sir Kay steps up and tells the others to shut up, but in reality all of them are suddenly doubting their leader. If Arthur led all his former knights to their deaths and then lied about killing the beast, what sort of man are they serving? Arthur tries to gather his troops together to take the fight to the forest of Calidon. He wants to finish this; he wants to do what everyone thought he had done months ago. As Merlin watches Arthur walking down the great hall, accompanied by his distrustful knights, under the contemptuous gaze of his courtiers, he marvels at the disgrace Arthur is experiencing that he, Merlin, brought upon his head. The magnitude of his betrayal is dazzling.

Uther tries to persuade Arthur against the expedition, but not very hard. It's almost as though he approves of it. Arthur talks about his duty to Camelot, his status amongst his men. Uther makes noises about needlessly interfering in other kingdoms. But Uther keeps looking at Merlin. Merlin can't read his expression. He meets his gaze as steadily as he can. Sometimes now he fears Uther suspects something, or even knows something, beyond his lie. He tells Gaius that. Gaius doesn't have an opinion. "Just keep saying everything happened very fast," he advises. Merlin can't tell for sure, but he thinks Gaius is almost as angry with him as Arthur is.

"It could be a suicide mission," says Uther, placidly. "You've failed once before. You may not be as lucky a second time." The indifference in his tone chills Merlin. The king _wants _Arthur to charge off to the north. Why?

"I don't see we have any choice," Arthur rises to the bait, sticking his chin out, placing a hand on his sword as though implying he would fight all the court before they would stop him taking Camelot's force to Strathclyde. "It's a simple matter of honour."

Uther listens to Arthur's endless ridiculous justifications of duty to help Strathclyde, to prevent further attacks on Camelot's citizens' interests - and Uther listens, looking slightly bored, before relenting with a slight curt nod. Merlin wants to shout at him, demand to know: why is Uther doing this? Why is he letting Arthur go? Or is he letting Merlin go? He can't tell anymore. Uther's completely unreadable.

The knights pack for the trip to Calidon. And the knights are scared. They're young, and the certainty they had taken faith in – Arthur's famous dragon slaying – has proved false. Plus there's Sir Royns, always snide, always talking, always snipping. "How can you not notice a dragon isn't dead?" he asks, around the bonfire one night. Sir Kay had looked worried as he told Merlin that.

"I think Royns is plotting mischief," he says, anxiously.

"Royns is just an upstart," Merlin reassures, wondering when _he _had become such an establishment figure. Wasn't _he _an upstart? A farm boy from a village nobody cared about even when they remembered it existed, suddenly such a confidant to the prince that the knights reported to him, they told him the things they daren't tell Arthur. Then Merlin had to pass it on. And Arthur usually waved his hand dismissively and said "oh, I'll sort it out, Merlin". Before this, he could sort things out by going to the knights' mess and passing the time of day with them. Nowadays he never passed the time of day with his knights, and nothing was sorted out. There was mistrust on all sides. Merlin daren't tell Arthur the reports any more than the knights did.

"Royns says that this is a suicide mission. He says that we will all die, just like all the old knights. Royns says how will Arthur kill the Dragon this time, since he couldn't last time?"

"Royns is a coward," snaps Merlin, perhaps unfairly, given that even he could tell that Royns had a point. "Tell Royns – " he stops himself. "Oh, never mind. It doesn't matter."

Kay looks at him. Kay thinks it does matter, but can't say so, Merlin can tell. Merlin can sense his doubt, and ignores it. There's too much doubt everywhere, gnawing at everyone, primarily emanating from the prince himself.

Arthur looks surprised when Merlin shows up, packed. "I didn't ask you to come." He sounds as if he hates him.

"I'd like to." They are more words than they've exchanged since the messenger arrived that didn't involve dreary household practicalities. "Can I?" He has to ask, but he has to go. He would have to find a way to go even if Arthur says no, but he would rather go with Arthur.

"Just don't say anything until he's _actually _dead this time." If Arthur's joking, there isn't a shred of humour in his tone. He ignores Merlin's offer of help and swings himself up on his horse.

Merlin follows the clattering knights out of the courtyard, looking back at the beautiful white fortress. Gaius is standing by the steps, looking old and concerned, Gwen has his arm. She is staring at the cobbles, looking distraught. And Uther is on the battlements, not looking at his son, but watching Merlin.

He's always watching Merlin, these days. He's always watching, and waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

**White Lies Chapter Three**

The further north they ride, gradually Arthur emerges from his funk. Arthur's sulks are accomplished, but nothing can last forever. He begins forgetting sometimes that he is mortally angered by Merlin, and then looks annoyed when he remembers. Finally, as they cross into Strathclyde, Arthur lets Merlin ride next to him for a whole day. Nothing much is said, but it's a start. They are closing in on Calidon now. For the first time since the Great Dragon reports had reached Camelot, Merlin begins to think that Arthur might be able to trust him again. The problem is, he can't think of a reason why he should. He is still betraying and lying to Arthur every second he's with him.

They camp in the shadow of the forest. It stretches across the shallow hills for miles. No one has ever been through all of it. No one even lives nearby. In the darkness, no lights glimmer anywhere in sight. The leaves rustle so loudly in the breeze it's like the roar of the sea, a mass as far as the eye can see of swelling darkness. Arthur is restless, he seems to have surfaced from his mood and realised his knights don't have his back. It's an unfamiliar concept to him and he's a bit bemused. He waits for Merlin to lay his food out and then says "the knights aren't happy."

"They're scared," admits Merlin. "Kay says that Royns is making trouble –"

"Royns is a scrout." Arthur bits his bread as though it might bite back.

"That's what I said. Why did you make him a knight? He's a surly bastard."

Arthur shrugs. "Two of his brothers died during the...when the Dragon was free. My father told his father we would knight him. I didn't have much choice. Besides, he's a good fighter. He'll be useful."

"Only if he's on your side."

"You think he's going to side with the Dragon?" asks Arthur, sharply.

"No, I think he's going to side with himself."

Arthur digests this. Somewhere in the forest an owl screams as though in pain. They say there are evil spirits in there, fairies. Not nice fairies. Bad fairies. They say there are madmen in there. They say there's a prophecy that one day a kingdom will be lost and won in there. They say the trees walk. They say a lot of things about Calidon, none of which Merlin believed until today. There is a blackness to it, almost a solid barrier between it and the outside world. Merlin can well believe there are evil pixies in there, and is perfectly convinced the Dragon is in there, somewhere.

What now? He had assumed a plan of action would occur to him at some point during the ride. It has not.

"Kay has spoken to you often about this?" asks Arthur, thoughtfully. He is watching his knights at their fires, over the jumping flames of their own fire. "He trusts your judgement." It doesn't sound like a compliment; the flattery is hidden beneath layers of typical Pendragon sarcasm. Merlin waits. More fool Kay, Arthur seems to want to be saying, but is hindered by the fact he, too, is appealing to Merlin's judgement. "You shouldn't have lied to me," says Arthur, finally, sadly, looking at Merlin straight in the eye for the first time in so long that Merlin jumps. "I know you meant well, but it was very wrong. I trusted you. And you made me look like an idiot."

"I really thought it was de..." but Merlin's never mastered the art of lying, and Arthur scowls at him. Merlin shrugs, meets Arthur's eye and says steadily "you're right. I _am_ sorry. You know I am. The Dragon had gone, and I thought it didn't matter."

Arthur snorts. "You are a softy, Merlin. Soft-hearted _and_ soft-headed. You didn't think that the Dragon would just leave forever, did you? Why _did _the Dragon leave?" he adds, to no-one in particular except the fire. "He had Camelot at his mercy. Why would he just leave?"

"Kay says that Royns is saying –"

"Oh, hang Royns and his stupid rumours."

"I've heard that there's a madman in there," says Merlin after a pause, "who has visions. He's said that one day a kingdom will be won or lost in a battle in there."

"You can't have a battle in a forest. Is that something else Royns as said?"

"No. That was my mother. There was a blacksmith in our village from the north when she was little. She had heard that the madman has an army of fairies..."

"I'm sure he does."

"Bad fairies."

"Merlin, for the love of –"

"There's bad magic in there," he continues, not caring. He wants to stop Arthur going in there, somehow, or at least prepare him for the fact that strange things will happen in there. Things which will change Arthur's life. He needs to somehow get Arthur thinking that the forest is a different version of reality, that the things in there are independent of normality. He needs Arthur to realise the scale of these events, bigger than them, bigger than their friendship. He feels as though the darkness is coming off the forest in fingers, reaching into the camp. He has to make Arthur realise the depth of trouble they are in. "It throws things out of whack. Country people know about that sort of thing."

"Country people drink things distilled from potatoes," snaps Arthur, and they fall into silence. It's only broken by the arrival of Sir Kay by the fire, accompanied by a young man whose face is worried in the flickering firelight. This is King Roderch, the young king of Strathclyde. His people call him 'The Generous'. But then, people called Arthur a dragonslayer once. Roderch is a good man, but his face is too generously depressed for Merlin's liking. Roderch looks like a man contemplating a lost cause. Roderch has been inspecting the men, looking at them as though he knows they will all be dead by this time tomorrow.

"I'm very grateful you came," says Roderch, sitting by the fire, and glumly warming his fingers. "This is a cursed place. Can you feel it?"

Arthur snorts and says "You haven't even seen the Dragon yet."

Roderch has not. It doesn't, in truth, sound like he's looked that carefully. "We've mainly been concentrating at defending Altcluthia. But he hasn't attacked yet. We..." he blushes slightly. "We're a lot more provincial up here. We couldn't withstand what Camelot withstood."

Merlin and Arthur's eyes meet briefly. _Camelot_ couldn't withstand what Camelot withstood. The losses had been catastrophic.

"Think nothing of it," says Arthur, effortlessly assuming a superciliousness to the young king's nervousness, "I have unfinished business with the monster. It has done terrible things to my kingdom, and we are ultimately responsible for its escape. We take it on in the morning."

Roderch leans in eagerly, wanting to learn. "How did it escape?"

"We don't know that yet," Arthur sounds exactly like his father, daring the hearer to draw their own conclusions from that ignorance. 'Just try using this against me,' the tone says, 'try it and see where you get.'

But Roderch isn't trying to challenge Arthur. He bites his lip thoughtfully. "Why did it flee?"

"It was badly injured. We thought it was dead. It wasn't. We'll finish it off."

"There are things in that forest...horrible things," the boy shivers, but it isn't that cold. "There's a terrible madman in there. They say he foresaw the death of my father, and is driven mad by the fact he couldn't help him. They say the trees walk."

"My servant thinks there are fairies in there," says Arthur, sardonically. He raises an eyebrow at Merlin in the dark. 'He's as ridiculous as you,' Arthur is signalling.

"Yes, I've heard that too," confirms Roderch, totally missing Arthur's sarcasm. He's looking fretfully at the shapeless black of the dark forest.

Arthur rolls his eyes and says he needs sleep. He picks up his pack and lies on a log nearer the fire. Merlin puts away the food, settles Roderch, and then lies on the cold earth himself. The trees whisper, even though there doesn't seem to be much of a breeze. The slight drizzle is falling straight. He thinks about what he has done, and tries to imagine what might happen, but he cannot see beyond tonight. He waits until Arthur and Roderch are breathing regularly, then gently pulls off his cover and walks towards the trees.

****

Merlin's blood is thundering at his ears. The trees are so dense they are practically a solid barrier to progress. The forest doesn't want people getting in this far. Brambles pull his clothes, branches smack him in the face, trailers snatch at his heels. He stumbles, fresh gashes on his face, arms and legs. He won't be stopped. He moves by instinct, and eventually reaches a clearing. The trees stop abruptly. There is a small shore, then a deep lake, which can only be identified by swirling in the dark and a gentle lapping of water. There is no moon. The trees mutter and creatures chatter all around from the dark trees. Lying on the shore is the Dragon. Merlin is relieved to see a familiar face. It is not, however, a friendly one. The Dragon is profoundly put out.

"Hello, young warlock," he says, crossly. He pretends to look over Merlin's shoulder. "Didn't you bring your army with you?"

"It isn't my army. I'm here to try and help you."

"Oh, indeed," sulks the Dragon.

"You need to leave here."

The Dragon frowns at him. "You look troubled," he observes, finally. "Do not worry about me, I can help myself. Look after yourself."

"I know _how_ you help yourself," says Merlin, desperately. "Can't you leave and –"

"And go where?" enquires the Dragon, building up to his magnificent rage. "I went to the Isle of Blessed and found it under junta of the druid boy. I hear the forest of Broceliande has been overrun by Morgause and Camelot's junior witch. La Val sans Retour is full of Mordred's camps. I wouldn't be in the least surprised," he continues, "to find that Avalon is under that child's control too. But I'm not going to Avalon. I've come to a stop here. This is a site of the Old Religion they haven't taken yet, the _only _one that I can find. Have I attacked Strathclyde? I have not," he answers his own question, shaking his head from side to side in fury, "I have _not._ Let Arthur and that silly boy Roderch attack me here if they wish. I won't harm them myself, but I am protected. They will not be safe. You're only safe because you are a creature of magic, if not a very efficient one. This forest does not welcome those who are not of the Old Religion. I will not be hounded from every home, Merlin. I. Will. Not. Have. It."

"Morgana's alive?" asks Merlin, briefly forgetting his train of thought. His heart leaps in his chest. He sits on a rock and puts his head in his hands in relief. The cold grip around his heart loosens for the first time in weeks. He's never been able to get Morgana's eyes out of his mind, the look not of anger but of disbelief, of betrayal. They come back to him at strange times, sometimes when he's asleep, sometimes when he closes his eyes to blink.

"Yes," says the Dragon in a voice strongly implying he does not share Merlin's relief. "That's another terrible mistake you have made, young warlock. I don't relish murder, but we would all be a lot safer if you had succeeded there where you had failed with Mordred." He settles down again, tucking his wings in. He looks almost sympathetically at the boy. "Merlin, your destiny has led you to a dark place."

"I've lied to everyone I love," says Merlin, staring across the lake into the blackness. "I've betrayed them all. I tried to help them and I have hurt them all."

The Dragon follows his gaze, blinks sleepily and replies candidly, "yes". They sit wearily together for a moment, before the Dragon turns back to Merlin and adds "you should go back to the young Pendragon's side. You must persuade him to leave me."

"I can't," replies Merlin, absently. "He doesn't listen to me anymore. If he ever did. His pride is wounded."

"His pride," predicts the Dragon, gravely, "will be the death of him."

"You said Mordred will be the death of him."

"At this rate, _you_'ll be the death of all of us," replies the Dragon, working himself back up into a lather. Merlin ignores him. He's so tired all of a sudden that he cannot move or think or feel. The Dragon just needs to _go_, anywhere. He needs to stop this happening.

"I set you free," he says. "Can't you do this one thing for me?"

But the Dragon doesn't answer. He isn't lying languidly on his belly anymore. He's sitting up, his lizard eyes shining with excitement. Merlin freezes for a moment. He knows the Dragon's idea of excitement is generally his idea of disaster. There's the briefest of moments before he hears Arthur's voice behind him, strained and almost unrecognisable in the cold dark air.

"_You _set him free?"


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you so much for all your kind reviews, I really appreciate it, as I'm struggling with knowing if it's working. This part is a bit longer, sorry about that. Thanks again for your patience (and perseverance) though! It will come back to Uther I swear. Soon.

**White Lies Chapter Four**

Arthur hadn't believed Royns when he woke him to say Merlin had gone into the forest alone. It was only Royns' gleeful face that convinced him. He had told Royns to go back to sleep, he had made out as though it was a perfectly natural thing, for Merlin to be going into the forest. Then he had followed. He had been scared, in the dark and noisy forest, with things creeping across his face, and wrapping around his ankles. He had fallen once, and the vegetation covered him in moments, as though he was drowning. He had fought to clear himself, but as fast as he had fought, vines twined themselves around his arms. When he finally surfaced, dragging himself clear of the leaves, he found himself looking into someone's eyes – there was nothing visible in the dark but the whites of their eyes.

"Hello," said the man. "Are you looking for your friend?"

He was the madman everyone talked about. He hadn't seemed mad. He was chewing a root, admittedly, and had wild hair and clothes made from leaves, but his calm and comfort had been strangely endearing to Arthur in this frightening and unfriendly place. He gently pulled Arthur upright and dusted him down, ineffectively but kindly. "It's been a long time since I have had so many visitors," he admitted, eagerly. "My name is Lailoken. Did my friend Aedan send you to find me?"

Arthur was looking around, coughing, trying to clear the taste of greenery from his mouth, jumping every time the faint breeze or dripping trees touched his skin. He was so alert to possible dangers, the brush of his own jacket against his arm could make him jump. He felt drunk, as though he and the world had fallen slightly out of synch with each other. It no longer seemed strange to have come across a madman in a forest. Merlin had said this man had an army of fairies. It no longer struck Arthur as impossible. The question is so bizarre he cannot help answering it, automatically. "King Aedan? He's been dead thirty years. His grandson is king now." There were other more important things, of course, to worry about.

Lailoken looked downcast and said "Yes I remember. I've been here a long time, and sometimes I forget. I killed them, you know, there was blood, a lot of blood at Afderydd. It was my fault, really, although Aedan would never have said so. He didn't send me away," he had added, quickly, looking up, defending Aedan from accusations Arthur hadn't made. "He would never send me away. But I had failed him. He loved his kingdom, and my magic wasn't enough to protect it, although I tried. I misinterpreted a prophecy. It can happen to anyone, but when it happens to you..." Arthur, impatient, had cut him off, reminded him about Merlin and Lailoken brightened again. "Yes, he came this way. I can take you to him."

As he moved off, Arthur had taken his arm and said, resenting the vulnerability in his voice, "Was he in trouble?"

Lailoken looked at him, thoroughly baffled. "Why no, the forest wouldn't harm_ him_." He had taken Arthur through trackless forest, trotting through the foliage a lot easier than Arthur, who followed behind, striking a path with his sword vindictively. "I eat roots and berries here," explained Lailoken, as he waited for Arthur to overcome a particularly insistent rose bush, "so I've absorbed a lot of the magic." He peered through the gloom at Arthur. "You should eat more roots," he advised, and Arthur had groaned, as thorns ripped his skin. Lailoken offered him some elderberries. Arthur had swiped them away, thinking about his dead knights, thinking about Merlin and wondering what had happened to him, what had brought him into this horrible place in the dark, and why.

Finally there was a slightly lighter patch of darkness in front of them, the melodious voice of the Dragon filled the air and as Arthur pulled his sword free, terrified about in what state he might find Merlin, Lailoken melted away into the forest. And then he heard Merlin's voice. He sounded tired, but otherwise fine. Arthur's relief was abruptly interrupted by Merlin's words. "I set you free. Can't you do this one thing for me?"

*****

"_You _set him free?"

Arthur doesn't understand. He literally _doesn't understand_. How could Merlin free a dragon? Even Arthur didn't know how to free a dragon! Arthur, after all, didn't even know how to _kill_ a dragon. He's bewildered. The strange sounds of the forest are loud, and unsettling, the gentle dripping of rain from leaves underpinning it all. There are odd, languid movements in the dark which he can't identify. The whole thing is so dreamlike he would imagine he was still asleep by the fire were it not for the ice that seems to have set into his veins, too real to be a nightmare. Even in his nightmares, he could not imagine Merlin meeting the Dragon in friendship. His sword hangs by his side. Whatever he had feared, trailing after Lailoken after the forest, it was never this. "But I don't understand." He says aloud, to the air, sword hanging loosely in his hands. He's utterly disorientated, but as he repeats "I. Don't. Understand", the ice in his blood melts as panic begins to make his skin crawl, and rage rather than bewilderment starts to make his heart pound. The Dragon lays his head back down on the ground, and chuckles expectantly.

It's only when Merlin starts speaking that Arthur's eyes focus again. "Arthur I –" but he gets no further, Arthur brings up his sword, his befuddlement evaporates. He doesn't know why or how or anything, but he knows Merlin set the Dragon free. He has heard him say it. "Stay back." The words are in his father's voice, and drop like stone between them. "Stay back. Don't come further." He keeps the blade between them, but can still see Merlin's distraught expression. There are only two facts that Arthur can cling to in this confusion. One is that Merlin set the Dragon free. The other is that Merlin has met the Dragon secretly, on the night before a battle. There is only one conclusion from those facts. Merlin is a traitor. In the utter turmoil in Arthur's brain, he can only cling to those three statements. However crazy or unthinkable they appear, Arthur must keep a grip on logic somehow, and that is the only grip he can find, the only truths which don't slip away from him.

He isn't sure what he is planning on doing next. He tries to look like he might have a plan. He has a hostile magic forest behind him, and a traitor, a dragon and a lake in front of him. A plan will not come into his head, which is buzzing with too many thoughts, too much anger and hurt, which he must not think about, which he cannot think about. "Stay back," he says again, in his father's voice. He thinks he might be sick. His father would never be sick. He has never envied his father's apparent easy condemnation of traitors, until this moment. But then, he has never seen a traitor, a real traitor, until this moment.

"I can explain!" says Merlin, wildly. The Dragon sighs audibly. Arthur can't watch them both at once, he starts to realise he is beginning to really panic now, he hasn't enough eyes to watch the enemies he is surrounded by, and has no one to watch his back. He has to stay calm, he tells himself, he has to stay calm. _But how? _Arthur can deal with open battle. He cannot deal with this. But he is trying to look as though he can.

"You killed them all," he says, because the words are bursting from his body and bashing at his skull, "you killed all those men. Both of you. You killed...you killed them all." You killed Sir Leon, who I grew up with. You nearly killed me. You nearly killed Gwen. You nearly destroyed Camelot. You might still. He squeezes his grip on the sword, to give himself nerve, to keep his head. He tries to stream kingly strength from the steel. Whatever happens, he will die like a warrior, he will die like his knights had died.

"No." Says Merlin, but tears are flowing from his wide eyes and Arthur remembers him crying over that dragonlord, which had been so strange, he had thought it strange even at the time. For a moment he loses focus again, as he realises the extent of the treachery, the months of lies, it's like tunnel vision, staring down the little strange things which had endeared Merlin to him but had, nevertheless, _been strange_.

"That's why you said I had killed the Dragon," says Arthur, faintly, slowly, each word signalling a piece falling into place. "That's why you said it. Because you were...you were in it together. That's why you cried over the dragonlord. Because...you're..." He has to hold his nerve, but the spots in front of his eyes are starting to blind him, "you're...a dragonlord...you're _his_...friend." His tight grip on the sword is starting to make his arm ache, but it's the only grounding he feels like he has in reality at the moment. Merlin wasn't crying about Camelot, he wasn't crying for Arthur's kingdom, he was crying for one of his own kind.

Merlin is talking again, begging Arthur to not be angry, to listen, just listen to him...but he isn't really saying anything to listen to. And anyway, Arthur can't listen. All he can hear are the words in his own head, the winds at Ealdor and Cedric's death and the roof falling in at Indirsholas and ...

"Oh my god." Arthur now lowers the sword, because every ounce of strength evaporates from his body in a moment, he is as weak as a child and can barely stand in his armour. "Oh, what did you do to Morgana? What did you do? She was one of you! I'm not stupid, I've always known there was more to her dreams than...what did you do to her? She was one of you! Why did you hurt her? Where is she?"

"The witch," intones the Dragon languidly, who has been watching Arthur's discombobulating with great boredom, "the witch is perfectly safe, no thanks to Merlin and, I might add, against my advice." Having delivered this opinion, he reassumes an air of indifference.

Merlin's close enough now for Arthur to see him even in the dark, his eyes shining with tears and looking as scared as Arthur expects he does himself. Merlin reaches out to try and touch him, to take his shoulder, and Arthur abruptly raises the sword in a strike. Merlin recoils. Arthur's sword drops again. They look at each other for the briefest of moments, both completely exhausted and confused. Arthur's brain has tired itself in the whirlwind, and now feels empty and his whole body hollow.

And then the world loses all solidity. There is a blinding flash of light, a brief moment of deafening silence followed by an even more monumentally deafening roar, as though some terrible beast has awoken. Suddenly the forest erupts in noise, there's awful ripping and a cacophony of shredding, soil heaves fiercely, with enough force to make both Arthur and Merlin fall with echoing thuds, and all around them the trees bend violently, repeatedly, while screaming from the edge of the forest reaches a pitch. Human screaming, from the direction of the knights' camp.

Grasping the swelling earth which is rolling as though the sea, Arthur turns to face the twisting forest, but it's too dark, all he can see is a mass of movement, ill-defined in the black, and the terrible noise, a thudding which vibrates from the ground through his body and his bones. Merlin, who has reached his side, staggers back in shock and falls again as the thuds deafen them, white to his lips. The ground gives another heave and they both fall again. Arthur's been scared before, but this is the first time he has gone cold to the bone in terror. He almost forgets to breathe in fear. The profoundly pained screams pierce through the crashing, his knights, screaming for help. It's the only thing which makes his mind lurch back into working, after being temporarily stalled by the confusion.

Unlike Arthur and Merlin, the Dragon is neither surprised nor alarmed. He settles down and comments, "It looks like your army is trying to extract you." Arthur turns back to him. He can't speak, he just stares at his former tormentor. He has been caught out by the monster again, and has led more men to their deaths. He raises his sword. Merlin reaches across and grabs his arm.

"No, don't!" He has to shout above the roar.

"_Get off me, Merlin_!" He shoves him with all his strength, he puts into that shove the hatred and anger and pain, and nearly sends his servant six feet across the shore.

"This is not my choice, young Pendragon," says the Dragon, soberly. "The forest doesn't welcome those who are not creatures of magic. They expel them."

"_I'm _not a creature of magic," snaps Arthur, but he has stopped short of striking. He won't try and fail to kill the Dragon again. He will not make a fool of himself again in front of these two.

The Dragon snorts derisively, but Merlin interrupts whatever reply the Dragon was about to give by stating in a tone of voice which suggests the mildest of disbelief at his own eyes, "Arthur, the trees are walking."

And they are. The roots have been dragged up, the branches are swinging violently, and the trees are walking. The vines are spreading ahead of them, snaking stealthily away from Arthur and Merlin, back towards the camp, in search of the knights, the gorse and heather bushes trot eagerly at ground level.

"Dear me," says the Dragon, resting his chin on one of his wings.

But Arthur can only think of the knights, the distant screams are blood curdling. The trees are lumbering away from him towards their camp, and then he forgets the Dragon and Merlin and starts running towards the trees. He hears Merlin shouting behind him, but he's running and shouting to whoever can hear him, "Eat the roots! Eat the berries!" He runs, leaping over twining vines, and writhing heathers, pushing through staggering alders and ducking oaks' swinging branches. He grabs handfuls of the berries and roots, and starts finding his knights, bleeding, trapped, unable to move, their feet are sinking in the forest floor of foliage, the branches and leaves and twigs bash them back, the nettles which pulled on his clothes previously are deep in their skin, lashing pitilessly, the blood is streaking across the foliage. He shoves the berries and roots at them, pulling them by the shoulders and shouting a retreat. He becomes aware of Merlin next to him, dragging the knights, administering the berries and roots with equal urgency. He tries not to notice the trees wheeling away from their progress, he tries to pretend not to see a holly bush withdraw its lashing as he steps between it and Sir Gawain, shoving him towards escape while shoving holly berries into his mouth, or a birch move a large root to let Merlin through. He can't think now, he can't lose any more knights, he has to focus on what can be helped and worry about the rest later. His mouth is completely dry, it is painful to swallow. This will be the end of Camelot. He has led Camelot to ruin for a stupid vindictive mission. He can see nothing still, all he can see are fleeing knights, all he can hear are cries of pain, and it is all his fault.

And then the darkness grows even deeper as a shadow crosses the sky, and the Dragon inelegantly clears a space for his landing by breathing fire on the marching trees, to a general unearthly howl. He lands with his usual defiance and peers down at Merlin, dragging an unconscious Sir Kay and Arthur, hauling an unconscious Roderch.

"This," says the Dragon, as the trees chant in fury, realigning their strategy around them, "is a problem."

"Please," implores Arthur, "let my men go." His arms are like lead, the weight of them almost breaks his shoulders. Merlin sinks to the floor, head in hands.

The Dragon seems to think about this and then says, "They should not have come here."

Arthur groans, picks up Roderch and begins to move back towards the moving forest. The Dragon stops him with a wing.

"You must have met young Lailoken. You're giving them roots and berries."

"Yes. He isn't so young." Arthur's too tired to fight, and drops Roderch again. The trees have realised Roderch and Kay are in the clearing, some of the younger saplings are starting to edge into the Dragon's clearing, across the burnt remains of other trees. Arthur finds himself in the curious position of edging nearer the Dragon for protection.

"No. But one day he will do you a great service. I would like you to remember him."

"Fine." Arthur would agree to anything, anything. His desperation is absolute. "Please let me and my men go." Like before, he thinks. Show me mercy. He had hated the Dragon's mercy, but now that all of Camelot relies on it, it is all he wants. Humility has never been a virtue Arthur has been known for, it was not a virtue Uther would think appropriate for princes, but Arthur has learned humility this night in the forest.

The Dragon shakes his fine head and announces, "the path to greatness is littered with sacrifice. I somewhat resent that it has come to this, but please pull out young Roderch's sword."

Arthur is too dazed to argue, and pulls the unconscious king's sword free from the vine in which it is tangled. It glows brightly in the gloom, temporarily blinding both Merlin and Arthur. Arthur almost drops it. Its light leaps up, casting the clearing in a ghostly light.

"I've often wondered," admits the Dragon, watching the glow thoughtfully, "why the kings of Strathclyde had been fortunate enough to have such a blade, forged in dragon's breath and endowed with great magic. It only comes to effectiveness when handled by someone of the noblest birth. It doesn't work for young Roderch, his father was not all he seemed. I might have guessed it would be to do with my own destiny. Your personal destiny," he informs the completely baffled humans, "is always the greatest of mysteries." He rears up, batting his wings and roars: "to me, trees! I marshal you to my cause and demand your fealty!" The trees spin around, abandoning the slow march towards the edge of the forest where the knights had attempted to enter. They begin instead to encroach on the space the Dragon made. The creak and rustle of the walking forest rings through Arthur's head.

Arthur now lies down Roderch on the floor, and brings the flashing blade before his eyes. He will die here, and now, he thinks, alone in this strange and cold forest far from home, having never done all the things he had secretly imagined he would, had hoped he would, for so many years. But he would do it with a sword in his hand, even if it were a magical one.

"What are you doing?" Merlin asks of the Dragon. He is still sitting on the floor, in tears; his voice is exhausted, and despairing. He too has surrendered. He too believes he will die. Arthur remembers he isn't alone. Merlin is here. Arthur is still glad he is here. Whatever Merlin is, Arthur doesn't want to die alone.

"I'm the greatest creature of magic in this forest," says the Dragon, "believe it or not, Merlin. And I have bound the trees' will to mine. They have to follow me, once I have ordered them to do so. My end will bring about their end." He looks down at Arthur. "I had hoped to watch you fulfil your destiny, young Pendragon, but nevertheless I have no sadness about leaving. I trust you, and him, and frankly I am tired of all the petty resentments and jealousies and I don't have the strength for the fight anyway. I am losing my judgement – I ought not have attacked Camelot. I knew from then that the time was coming. There are not many blades capable of the job, but that is one of them. And there aren't many who could command it, but you are one of them. Strike true, please."

"There has to be another way!" cries Merlin, ducking an alder in the vanguard, and pulling Kay clear of a vicious gorse bush.

But Arthur meets the Dragon's eyes, and sees there a confidence lacking everywhere else. He doesn't understand anything about this, nothing – he doesn't understand what's going on, or how, or why, but he sees in the Dragon a fellow warrior's instinct and trusts it. You have to trust what you understand, when there is nothing else to cling to. Without hesitation he raises the blade and strikes it deep. The Dragon falls, Merlin shouts, and the trees freeze. The ground vibrates as the roots dig deep, as they return to earth, as bushes and vines and trees settle back to the soil. For a moment, only the memory of the noise of the march of the trees rings in their ears, replaced gradually by the more distant groans of the injured knights, scattered amongst the now-peaceful forest.

Arthur sinks next to Merlin the slightly smouldering clearing, the beautiful Dragon lying dead. He is utterly exhausted, more physically, mentally and emotionally tired than he has been since he had fought his father in the Great Hall. He leans against a comfortingly-stationary birch tree, and meets Merlin's face, who is leaning against Sir Kay's body. In a moment he will get up and go and find the injured knights, he will take the Dragon as trophy for his father, he will take the gratitude of Roderch and his kingdom on Camelot's behalf, he will ride for Camelot in glory.

But first he has to ask a question. He looks down, away from Merlin, who he can hear panting in the darkness next to him, above the sound of his own heaving chest. You should eat more roots and berries, Lailoken had said. Except Arthur hadn't eaten any at all. So why had the forest let him enter in the first place? Why, as it was ripping his knights limb from limb, was it letting him pass? The adrenaline is making him light-headed, he knows that soon he will think better of asking the question, and he has to ask it, he has to know, or else it will destroy him.

"I _was_ born of magic, wasn't I?"

Merlin takes two more breaths and then says clearly and fearless with relief, "yes."

Yes. He leans back, looks up to the night sky and lets the rain fall on his face, clean and wet, breathing the cold and sharp air. Roderch stirs, his hand reaching for the gash an oak delivered to his forehead, groaning. He shuts his eyes again.

Arthur stumbles to his feet.

"Arthur? Arthur?" Merlin's nervous, uncertain, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and tries to reach out for him, but Arthur pulls away. He rubs his head for a moment and tries to revive himself. He is bruised. Everything hurts. His skin is too tender to touch, and his brain is too full of hurt to dwell on anything for more than a few moments. "Arthur what are you going to do?"

Arthur starts talking because it's easier than thinking. He digs his sword into the ground, leans on it and stands over Merlin. "Why," he asks the clearing, "why did you do it? Why did you set that dragon free, Merlin?" His voice is cracking, he doesn't care. He wants to know the answer. Whatever it is. Even if it's that his friendship with Merlin has been a lie from the start, even if it's that Merlin wishes the destruction of everything he loves. He leans slightly heavier on his sword.

Merlin talks dully about repaying debts. He talks of the sleeping spell in Camelot, that only the Dragon could help, that Camelot would have fallen, that Arthur would have been killed, that he had to act. He had to return Morgana to her kind, or else all that they loved would have been dust. He had to free the Dragon, because without his help Camelot would have fallen – more than once. He starts talking about the years of being magical in Camelot, about the trips to the Dragon, how there is a secret barter economy going on over royal lives between pitying magicians, how the creatures Camelot have thought subjected have been laughing at them. Merlin doesn't look at him, he lists his treachery in a monotone, looking straight ahead. Arthur listens, heart filling with dread, sweat on his palms, anger forming a ball in his throat. It is almost worse than simple treason. It is more humiliating and more complicated. "You're destined to be great," concludes Merlin finally, wearily, still looking straight ahead. "And my job was to protect you. Is to protect you."

"_Your_ job." Arthur practically chokes. "Is to protect _me_."

Merlin looks at his hands. "I can help you. I _am _helping you, as much as you're helping everyone else. You have enemies. Enemies you cannot begin to understand – I don't really understand them. Only the Dragon did and...I think he meant us to sort them out together. I can be useful to you, even now. If you'll trust me."

Arthur begins to laugh. He begins to weep with laughter. It isn't funny, of course, except it is, when you think about it, it's all so bloody ridiculous. Merlin laughs too. It isn't funny. People he's loved have died. But then he has always known Camelot under his father was rotten to the core. He just has never imagined it would be exposed to spectacularly. His father, who has lied to everyone, has been in turn lied to by everyone. Who _wasn't_ a traitor in Camelot? Would sheltering a sorcerer be any more treacherous than slaughtering your citizens in retaliation for the death of your wife?

"Oh, how can I let you come back to Camelot?" he asks, through tears of laughter, and they both stop laughing abruptly. "But how can I not? What _am _I going to do? I have no idea." He pauses, tentatively testing his thought processes to see if they were working yet. They were not. With a sigh, he decisively sheaths his sword and announces: "I'm going to go and get my men."

"Arthur?"

"Oh...shut up, Merlin. Are you going to help me find my men or not?" He starts clambering through the forest. Don't make me think about it yet, he thinks. Except there will always only be one answer, which even Merlin must know as he traipses after him. There is only one question, really. How could he not?


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks again for all your reviews, I really appreciate the feedback. I think this might be the end of it, although I do know how I would continue so in the future I might take it further or write a sequel so keep your eyes peeled if you liked it... I hope these two chapters aren't a disappointment – and thanks for sticking with it!

**White Lies Chapter Five **

The shout goes up that Prince Arthur has returned to Camelot. The doors to the Great Hall are flung open, and the prince excitedly enters, amongst his knights, flush with success. But Royns has been there first, as an outrider, telling the king that Merlin went into the forest alone one night. "Why would he do that?" Royns asks rhetorically, and Uther shrugs. "What do I care about servants?" is his reply, but he cares, and he takes note.

"I bring you the body of the Great Dragon," says Arthur, words tumbling out.

Uther makes a fuss of his son and his knights, he claps them on the backs, and hears the story, in a confused fashion. Arthur tells the tale haphazardly – The trees fought, because the Old Religion was offended, but we fought them off...then I killed the Dragon...here is the tribute from Roderch, here is a new treaty we have signed with Strathclyde, he keeps going, the neighbouring kings are awed...we made sure we showed the Mercians on the way home...on and on. It isn't like him, to speak so randomly.

"How did you kill it?" asks Uther, carefully, interestedly. Arthur's adrenaline is pumping. His excitement is because of his reparation to his court reputation, Uther thinks. He hopes. There is something strange about Arthur, he can't focus, or look at the king. Something is out of key. But then it has been a trying month for Arthur.

"When we found the Dragon," says Arthur, looking around the court triumphantly, "Roderch was unconscious. I took his sword, it was magical, and it killed the Dragon. It was very lucky."

Oh, indeed, _very _lucky. "We?" queries Uther, lightly.

"Merlin was there."

Merlin was there, naturally. Uther smiles, looking over Arthur's shoulder to where his servant is trying to shrink against a pillar. He thinks he sees an expression flutter across Gaius' eyes, dread maybe, but it may have just been Uther's imagination. He is fairly sure Merlin's sallow skin and sunken eyes aren't his imagination. He doesn't press Arthur further. He dismisses the court, promising a feast and a holiday for the town.

"But first," says Uther, "there's an important matter to address." Everyone looks expectant, the relief and happiness is still in the air. Relief and happiness are good emotions for subjects to have, but not at the expense of order and fear.

Uther looks across the court and says. "Guards, take Merlin to the dungeons. The charge is sorcery."

People goggle. Gwen slams her hand to her mouth. Arthur's mouth hangs open. He tries to intervene, but the guards shrug him off, he appeals to his father, he says it is madness, insanity, Merlin has risked his life, he shouts. "Don't, Arthur," says Merlin, faintly in the chaos. They look at each other, and Uther cannot read the looks between them, panic, maybe, and something else, but not surprise. Not from either of them. Merlin is dragged from the hall, white to his lips. He looks sick. Uther has to admire his bravery. Imagine living in that kind of fear of discovery, every day, for so long. He may be the enemy, but he was a worthy opponent. A dangerous one, but a satisfying one to catch. Gaius looks at Uther steadily. "Sire – " he begins, but Uther silences him with a bark. They look at each other. Don't push me, thinks Uther, so help me, do not force my hand. Gaius does not force his hand. He never does. He looks at the floor, lips pursed.

Uther sits in his throne. He dismisses the court, for real this time, ignoring Gaius trying to catch his eye, Arthur stays. He begs for Merlin's life. Merlin helped save his life in Calidon, and before, many times. He's scared. He knows an accusation of sorcery will lead to a conviction. "It's the first friend who has betrayed you," says Uther, "it won't be the last. But it will get easier." That isn't true. You just stop having friends. Uther only has one friend, and he forgives him a lot, to avoid the sting of betrayal.

"But we had – " begins Arthur, and stops. He looks really distraught, Uther notes. He looks like someone who has lost something important. But there's something else, something Uther can't fathom. Arthur is hiding something from him. He is not talking as much as he would normally be in this situation, he isn't ranting. He's editing his words. He's making plans. Uther is unfazed. Whatever Arthur is thinking, he is ferociously loyal to Camelot. Uther doesn't need to know everyone's secrets. Only the important ones. Arthur's sense of loyalty means that he isn't capable of having secrets important enough to interest him.

"Where's your proof?" demands Arthur finally, white hot anger on his face. Anger. Not confusion or surprise. It is an interesting reaction, but then, thinks Uther, Arthur is so often angry with him, these days. It isn't an admission of guilt, as it may be in anyone else. His son wouldn't do that to him. He cannot meet Uther's eye, but then, he probably doesn't believe the charge. He thinks Uther is being stupid. Arthur is ninety per cent of the way to understanding kingship, but it's the last ten per cent that is the painful one.

"You're here," he says, simply. "My proof is that you are here."

Arthur stops and finally stares full in his face for a moment before leaving, storming down the Great Hall. Uther watches him go.

You can only kill dragons with dragonlords and sorcerers. The last dragonlord wouldn't kill the Great Dragon and had to flee. Uther had been fresh out of dragonlords and sorcerers, so the Great Dragon had to be unsatisfactorily restrained, not killed. And then a dragonlord turned up, at his doorstep. Trusting a sorcerer was an act of madness, perhaps, but Uther had weighed the balance and decided that, for whatever reason, Merlin had been, for now, protecting Arthur. He had taken a tactical gamble that this protection would continue.

The gamble has paid off. The Great Dragon is dead and the sorcerer is contained.

Divide and conquer.

****

Gaius comes to see him. He asks for Merlin's life. He doesn't argue or deny Merlin's magic – he says it's because Uther won't change his mind, but Uther knows it's because he's right. "I can't let him live," he says. "It is the law, Gaius. You ought not have kept it from me." He always says that, whenever Gaius has kept anything from him. He ought not. But he does.

Gaius says, "Arthur won't forgive you."

Uther snaps, he says that he doesn't care about Arthur's forgiveness. Sorcery is against the law.

"So is sheltering a sorcerer," points out Gaius. "But you aren't arresting me." He's trying to say that _he_ won't forgive Uther either.

Uther doesn't understand. Gaius' life is his greatest act of clemency. "You were my greatest spy," he says, "I don't forget good service. I won't execute those who serve me loyally."

Gaius says Uther has forgotten Merlin's good service. But Uther hasn't forgotten Merlin's good service. He just doesn't know who Merlin is serving. It certainly isn't Camelot.

"He's saved Arthur's life," points out Gaius.

But Uther doesn't care. That doesn't prove anything. That's a cover. It's to gain Arthur and Uther's trust. Or else the boy has accidentally become friends with Arthur against instructions – either way it won't last.

Gaius looks at him sadly as he tells him that ill-advised friendship can make you act against your kind's best interests, even your own best interests. The old spy looks at his friend the king and says "friendship can destroy your life."

"I don't have any time for friendship," replies Uther, sitting on the throne and looking at papers, and not meeting his eye. "The sorcerer dies tomorrow. Don't put yourself through this again, Gaius."

"Please, Uther," says Gaius, suddenly, abruptly. He isn't asking as a subject. He's asking as a friend. He isn't asking for moral, or logistical, or political or religious reasons. He's asking for emotional ones. There is a break in his voice. He is asking everything. He is asking for the greatest gift Uther could give him. This is all I want, his voice is telling Uther, and you will destroy me by denying it. Uther has stopped, while he was thinking that, and he regrets doing so, it gives Gaius hope.

He looks up, and looks Gaius in the eye. "I am sorry, Gaius," he says, and he is sincere. This does not bring him joy, to hurt Gaius. "But I cannot do this for you. My first loyalty has to be to Camelot."

Gaius knows it's all over then and his grief makes him lash out. "Your first loyalty," he snarls, "is and always has been only to yourself."

Uther freezes for a moment, to let it pass, to let Gaius walk it back. Gaius quickly apologises, and goes to leave, before he makes it worse. He has seen so much death and pain, thinks Uther, and he is so old. How can he find the rage? The passion? "I _am _sorry, Gaius," he says, as the physician walks away, "but you shouldn't have kept this from me."

Every time, he always says that.


	6. Chapter 6

**White Lies Chapter Six **

The worst, when it happens, finally, can be a relief. Merlin is relieved. The times he has imagined this happening have haunted him for years. He sits in the dungeon as the sun sinks behind Camelot's white facade, remembering the first time he sat in this dungeon, the day he had met Arthur for the first time, the day the Dragon had spoken to him the first time. That was a lot of firsts. His time in Camelot had contained many firsts. This wasn't the first time he had been under a sentence of death, though.

It is the first time the guards are scared of him, however. Really scared. Before, when the witchfinder had thrown him in here, they hadn't really believed it was him. They just thought he was the scrout of a servant who occasionally Arthur confined for petty reasons. This time, they really believe it. Merlin thinks that's because Uther had really believed it this time and Arthur – for all his amateur dramatics in the Great Hall – Arthur had really believed it too, this time. He sits on the straw, elbow on knee, chin in palm and thinks. Uther knows. It's really as simple as that. And Arthur knows. There's far too much knowing going on for there to be a dignified way for anyone to back out of this. Even as he and Arthur had reached a cautious detente on the way home from Calidon, instituting a kind of 'don't ask, don't tell' policy, while building ideas of what they could achieve together, he had suspected they had both felt it wouldn't be workable. The white lies, he thinks, have been what his life in Camelot has always been entirely based on, and without them his position is untenable. So it was been a relief when Uther had spoken. And although he hates him himself for thinking it, the look of undisguised horror on Arthur's face had been a relief too. The friendship is still there, despite the current difficult readjustments. But Uther isn't going to be talked out of this by his son.

Merlin wakes without knowing he was asleep. Arthur is kneeling next to him, lit by the moon which floods in through the bars. "How can you sleep?" asks Arthur in a whisper, completely disgusted. "Seriously, _how can you sleep_?"

Merlin yawns and stretches and mutters that he didn't know he was asleep, but Arthur pushes him roughly and shushes him in voice louder than his muttering. "We have to be quiet," says Arthur, in an extravagantly quiet tone which could have raised the dead. "The guards are asleep too – although," he adds, sternly, "_they're _not facing the death penalty, so it's more understandable."

"Is it?" asks Merlin, suspiciously. The guards in Camelot are notoriously awful, but even so they had not looked like men who were going to sleep easy with him next door. "You didn't get something from Gaius did you? Arthur, I don't want him –"

"No, no, no," says Arthur impatiently and forgetting to whisper. "Don't be stupid. Gwen put it in their food. It's some of Morgana's sleeping draught..." they both hesitate, the spectre of Morgana rises. It isn't a subject they have yet discussed. They are both feeling their way in this new landscape of their friendship, and they haven't really reached Morgana yet. Arthur jingles the keys a little nervously.

Merlin reaches out and silences him. "The guards _might _be under a death sentence when Uther finds out they let you get in here. And you might be too. It's meant to be solitary."

Arthur groans slightly, and sits beside him. They both sit with their backs to the stone wall, watching the door. "You don't need me and Gwen and sleeping draughts do you? You could bust out of here, no problem."

"Yes."

"Well? Why don't you? I brought you keys..." he raises the keys, looking slightly abashed. "I mean, I thought, in case, they would help..." He looks down and sighs. "You don't really need my help."

"I _always _need your help," says Merlin, surprising Arthur with his forcefulness. "Are you kidding? What would I be doing with this power without you? Chopping down trees for firewood? Fixing leaking roofs? It wouldn't mean anything without you helping me show differences I can make."

"We made a lot of plans in a short time, didn't we?" observes Arthur, distantly. "There were a lot of things we could have done. I really had an idea of what we could do for Camelot. But the king isn't as stupid as he looks." There's real hate in his voice.

Merlin says, "I think your father has had his suspicions a while." He sees Arthur flinch at the word 'father'. "It would happen eventually, it may as well be now as not."

Arthur says gently, "Merlin, you have to leave now."

Merlin knows he's right. He isn't scared. He isn't a coward. But it's too much to lose, and too much to give, to die for Uther's tyranny and obsessions. Even Uther, Merlin thinks, should be grateful that I flee. Because there is nothing he wouldn't do for Camelot. He would die for Camelot and Arthur. But he will not die for nothing. "What will happen to you?" he asks, trying for lightness, but there is a thickness to his tone and he knows tears are filling his eyes. He doesn't want to go. He is leaving terrible burdens for Arthur to carry alone.

"I managed before you came."

"There are more dangers now. Arthur, you have to watch out for the druid boy, Mordred. And Morgana and Morgause, they are your implacable enemies. Arthur, please swear to me you'll stay away from the druid boy." He grips Arthur's arm so tightly that Arthur winces, he's trying to burn his words into Arthur's bones. "Don't trust him. Don't ever give him an opportunity to..."

"To what?" Arthur's both amused and slightly alarmed, wriggling out of Merlin's grasp. "The little druid boy?"

"I'm serious."

"Yes..." Arthur pats his shoulder a little awkwardly, and they stand.

Merlin tells Arthur to go, he wants to break out by magic, not keys; he doesn't want anyone else implicated.

"But you'll go?" asks Arthur, anxiously.

"Yes, I'll go." He is touched by Arthur's real concern. He doesn't bother trying to hide the dripping tears. He knows Arthur hates it, but that's too bad.

"But _where _will you go?" asks Arthur, fretfully, biting his lip.

"I can't tell you that." Partly, he thinks, because I don't know. But he wants Arthur to leave now, quickly, please, now, before he thinks about this anymore, it is inevitable but painful. He almost pushes the prince out the door. Arthur turns and conscientiously locks it. Then he leans against the bars, looking through, with a half-smile. But his eyes look brighter than normal in the moonlight too.

"You know..." Arthur begins, hesitates and pauses. Merlin watches impatiently. He knows what Arthur is trying to say. "I mean to say, the stuff you have lied about..." he is bashing his head softly against the bars as though trying to convey his emotions via Morse code. "It doesn't really matter, Merlin, to me. I understand why you did it. The details will take a time to understand and sink in, but...I mean, in the wider scheme of things...I forgive it. I do," he stops bashing his head, and faces Merlin eagerly. He wants Merlin to know he means it. "I really do."

"I know. Arthur, you have to go –" Merlin is backing away, urgently. _Please_ go, he thinks.

"What I'm saying," says Arthur, unhappily, "what I'm saying is that I don't believe what _he_'s saying, about you lying to gain our trust to destroy us. I believe you, not him."

Merlin can't speak now and just nods. Oh, please go.

"You'll come back." states Arthur. "I'll find you. When the time's right." When Uther's dead, he means, they both know. I'll find you when Uther's dead.

"You won't need to find me," says Merlin, half-laughing.

Arthur grins at the bravado, he assumes his 'one of the boys' attitude and reaches through the bars and wallops Merlin's shoulders. "Make sure of it." He says, and walks away. But before he's left Merlin's sight, his shoulders are slumped again.

Merlin leaves that night, and reaches Calidon without noticing anyone tailing him. When he finds Lailoken, the wild man is thrilled to see him, although notes Merlin's desolation.

"Was it the battle?" he asks, sympathetically. "I lost everything at Arderydd, you know. I thought I had understood my visions....my magic, you know, was always good, but my visions..." He sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Aedan didn't blame me. But there was so much blood. And screaming. It is the blood," he confides, "it is the blood which can drive you mad. They say I'm mad. I was for a while, but I'm not anymore. Mad or sane, the blood and the screams, stay with you."

"I know," says Merlin, and Lailoken knows he does. "It stays with me, too. I didn't understand my magic either. Arthur doesn't blame me either. I need your help."

"I prophesied the battle here a long time ago," says Lailoken, wistfully. "Arthur will be great, one day. The Dragon told me that, but I've had visions of my own..."

"Please, I don't want to talk about visions," says Merlin. "I saw a vision of Camelot under attack and I still brought it about. I want to learn more about my powers. I have to. The Dragon told me the Isle of the Blessed and the forest of Broceliande and le Val sans Retour were all occupied by enemies. Where can I find someone to help me?"

Lailoken looks thoughtful. "You should really be in Camelot. You might not like visions, my dear boy, but if you'd _seen_ my visions about the people facing Arthur..."

"The druid boy."

"There are prophesies about him. And the Dragon – he was very learned in this – he told me a lot about him and Uther's witch and her sister." He shrugs. "I advise Avalon. I won't lie to you – the sidhe are completely out of control. But the Ladies' fortress of Nefenhir is down there, and the Ladies of the Lake maintain order as much as anyone could with sidhe, and they can teach you everything. More even than Kilgarrah...had you not killed him."

"I've killed sidhe before. Doesn't that bar my entry? Are the Ladies of the Lake friendly to Camelot's cause?" Merlin fires the questions. This has to be right. There is only one go.

"Killing sidhe," says Lailoken, airily, "would bar almost every creature of the Old Religion from Avalon. _Everyone_ kills sidhe. If you've met them, you understand. They only bar their own sort for that kind of thing. People around here call them fair folk, you know, to try and keep them onside, and give them gifts. It doesn't work, of course. They just make themselves sick on the milk left out for them and then get aggressive. They are thugs," he adds, disdainfully, "and I really cannot stand them. But luckily no one else can either, so the druid boy's allies haven't bothered going there. And the Ladies of the Lake couldn't care less about Camelot's cause. The Ladies of the Lake are above such things. If they have an opinion on it, I'd guess that they wouldn't much care for the druid boy, as they wouldn't like his superior attitude, but they tend to have the same opinion on everything - which is mild scorn and total disinterest. They will teach you everything, and probably never ask what you want it for. It's apathy like that," Lailoken says, shaking his finger and looking discomposed for the first time since Merlin met him, "it's apathy like that which has caused the civil war which is coming to the Old Religion. But what can you do? You can't drag them up from their wretched crystal fortress, can you? When Mordred shows up there with his gang I wager the Ladies will suddenly rediscover worldly interests, but probably not until then." He stops, and takes a breath. "So do you want to go?"

"Yes. Please. Now. Thank you."

He follows Lailoken back to the lakeshore, but before he can be hit by the memory of the last time he was there, he is confronted by a familiar face. Freya is standing by the water, dressed as she had been the day he had said goodbye to her, face completely serene. For a second he thinks he has seen a ghost and gasps, grasping Lailoken's arm in fright. Lailoken looks at him confused at his confusion, bows and says, "My Lady, this young warlock is looking for instruction."

Freya's eyes move from Lailoken to Merlin. She smiles, slowly, it spreads across her face without hurry. It is as though she is still underwater, she moves ever so slightly slower than anyone else would. "Merlin," she says, her voice low and slow, pleased. "I knew we would meet again, Merlin. Will you come with me?"

"You're alive," says Merlin, faintly.

"She's a _priestess_," says Lailoken, with exaggerated deference. "Can you be alive if you can't die?"

Freya says, "thank you, Lailoken, for bringing him to us."

"You're welcome, my Lady," says Lailoken, waving a hand. "But do remember he is needed up here." He adds to Merlin, "They'll try and make you like them, unworldly and a servant of the Old Religion. You're needed at Camelot. Remember that."

Even dazed as he is by his unexpected reunion with Freya, Merlin doesn't think he could ever forget it.

"Will you come with me, Merlin?" says Freya, reaching out slowly. Merlin takes her hand, it is cold. "Watch out for the sidhe," whispers Lailoken in his ear.

It is Freya, but it isn't Freya. She is both the same and wholly different, as though moving behind a glass screen, or an image of her projected on a wall. There is a strange unreality to her, as though her eyes are not seeing what his are. He climbs in the boat, which moves without any sail or oar, out into the lake until Lailoken disappears from the shore, and then down; at first he panics, but then he breathes, and then they are flooded by an orange light, the gates of Avalon open and the familiar shrill squealing of squabbling sidhe pierces his ears.

*****

Uther is furious. Uther gets actually angry surprisingly rarely, mainly because he excites so much fear amongst his courtiers that causes for anger are reasonably uncommon, as people will open veins and bash brains out before admitting to Uther anything important has gone wrong. Uther's general modus operandi is coldness, a weighing of options, before a merciless pursuit of a course of action. But today, he isn't even just angry. He's furious. He is, as Gwen says to Arthur, spitting mad. She looks absolutely delighted as she says it, and Arthur loves her more than ever. Gwen thinks Merlin is innocent, and that she and Arthur sprang him from jail. It isn't that he doesn't trust her. He can't risk her life by telling her the truth. He has to lie.

Uther interrogates the guards over and over again. They were overcome, they keep saying, overcome by a ferocious sorcerer whose eyes were flaming. You were asleep, shouts the king. The king never shouts unless someone is about to die. The guards cringe. But Uther doesn't kill them. He tells Arthur afterwards that it isn't worth the cost, they won't do it again. He knows when an example has to be made, but it is in Uther's interest to keep around guards who are highly familiar with the possible tricks a sorcerer might use.

Arthur watches it all. He asks for clemency for the guards, he sends search parties out for Merlin. He doesn't know which way not to send them, but he knows that's why Merlin said he couldn't tell him where he was going. Arthur would help him if he knew, and Arthur mustn't be seen to be helping him. But he does it all on autopilot. He can tell his father is watching him, but he's watching his father. They must live together, and work together, because there is no option other than plunging the kingdom into civil war. And he isn't ready, anyway. He has a lot to learn, even if it's what _not_ to do. But he is planning. He is planning all the time, and formulating a vision for a new Camelot, and all the time he is a traitor in his heart, and he sometimes thinks Uther knows it, or will work it out. But he doesn't care.

"We have to find his family!" shouts Uther, as another search party returns, shuffling embarrassedly. "Where's that godforsaken village he's from? And his mother? Who came here?"

"Hunith is dead, father," says Arthur, arms folded, still playing the mediator, friendly to both king and cowering subject. "She died here in Camelot a year or more ago, of plague."

"Plague? What plague? When?" Uther is staring at him, eyes burning. Arthur doesn't flinch. He's learned a lot. Lies are now more important, more honourable, than truth. That makes them easier to tell.

"I was ill from that Questing Beast bite. Hunith showed up with a disease, she died in Merlin's own room. No one told you because Gaius found she was too far gone to be contagious by the time she arrived and you were worried about me. She was practically dead already, she just wanted to say goodbye to her son." Uther's narrowing his eyes. He's biting, Arthur can tell. That period is the black spot in Uther's memory, plus Arthur is reinforced by the semi-truth of it, told emotionally by Merlin on the way home from Calidon. Arthur waves an arm and says irritably, "Father, I can show you her grave." Or at least I can quickly make one, he thinks. But there is no need – Uther says "Bah!" and sits down, grumpily, staring at the floor, rapidly recalculating his position. Arthur dismisses the search party with a toss of his head and goes to leave himself, before saying to his father "it's all right, we'll find him. I won't rest until we do."

As the door shuts behind him, Arthur thinks, everything in my life is a white lie now.


	7. Chapter 7

I've been moving house. It's been horrible. For that reason I've prevaricated and written more. I'm not sure if I should write anymore, or just have left it how it was. I'm having a ponder. Thank you for any feedback. I'm off to unpack.

**White Lies Chapter 7**

"There's a visitor for you," says Freya. Her voice is, as always, as calm as the lake surface above them, and as always emotionless. However, after being in her company for – he's lost track of time – days? Weeks? – he detects a slight edge to her tone. It's clear she doesn't like visitors. He can't think who the visitor is.

Lailoken is standing in the entrance hall of the crystal fortress of Nefenhir. Merlin isn't sure why he hasn't gone further inside. He looks furtive; as though he thinks it's possible he's got this far without being noticed. However, from across the hallway, two Ladies are scowling at him. Lailoken had implied up at the lakeside that his relationship with the Ladies of Avalon was difficult. Merlin has never quite worked out why.

"Lailoken, it is good to see you," says Merlin, warmly. Lailoken looks the same as always – wild, unkempt.

"I wish I could say the same of you," sniffs Lailoken, "but you look awful."

"I've never felt better," Merlin is taken aback. He has never been so relaxed and energised, clear-headed and balanced. The very air in his lung seems new and fresh and un-breathed. It is like a new world, for which he has been perfectly designed.

Lailoken is peering at him as though he was a horse at market. "Yes, I can see that," he says. He says it as though it were a bad thing. The worst thing. They stand uncomfortably. Freya has joined her sisters in scowling at Lailoken. He takes Lailoken's arm, but he won't be led from the hallway. "Thank you, no," he says, "I don't like Nefenhir." Who doesn't like Nefenhir? The crystal fortress rears up from Avalon like a beautiful vision, glinting and glowing. It radiates with the Ladies' knowledge and gift, and blocks out the shrill sidhe, who often bash against the crystal in futile attempts to cast their chaos even into the fortress, which remains calm, quiet, cool even in the madness of sidhe Avalon.

Merlin tries to make conversation. "Well, it _is_ good to see _you_," he says. "Honestly, it must have been three months since I saw you."

"Three months?" says Lailoken, looking swiftly and accusingly at the Ladies. "Oh, I'm sure it does. To me, my dear boy, it has been more like three years." He waits. Merlin considers the news, but smiles beatifically. Three months, three years, so what? What does it matter? Merlin no longer measures in time, but in knowledge. The things he has learned defy time. The things he has learned are more important than time.

Lailoken shifts, then finally and aggressively snaps. "Now look here. For some time I've been waiting for you. I keep thinking, 'oh he'll be along'. But you haven't come along. Even though you must by now have mastery over your visions. I keep thinking 'he must _know_, especially as the Ladies are gadding about up there so much these days' – no, my Lady," he says, as Freya opens her mouth to speak – "my Lady, you may think that because my body roams in the forest of Calidon, I cannot see beyond it. But I can see much, and I can see you, and your sisters, and I know you're worried. And then I think, 'if they are so worried, surely Merlin is? Merlin, of all people?' But _then _I think, 'if my Ladies are so worried, maybe they haven't told Merlin, to keep him with them, as he is so valuable to them? Maybe they've kept it from him, blocked his visions?' And so," concludes Lailoken, a little awkwardly, "I'm here. To see if that's so."

"Oh, _Lailoken_," sighs Freya, languidly. "How you try us!" She sounds bored.

"No," says Lailoken, animated, more animated than Merlin has seen anyone for...well, three years, if Lailoken is to be believed. "No. I once let you stop _me _from helping _my _king, _my _friend Aedan. If Merlin will abandon _his _king, well, I can't make him go up. But I'll think less of him, and I don't believe he will do it."

Merlin smiles. Lailoken, for all his talking, has said little. "You haven't said what news you are referring to. Maybe I do know it."

"No. You don't," says Lailoken, decidedly. If he had any doubts on that subject before, they are gone now.

"He doesn't need to," says Nivenne, rising, quickly. She is used to being obeyed. She rarely concerns herself with Merlin. For the first time in a long time, Merlin feels a brief tension, in his chest. It passes though. He trusts the Ladies.

"War," Lailoken announces, dramatically. "War is rife. King Bayard of the Mercians has killed Odin, and now King Roderch has died at the hands of the prince of Northumbria. And King Uther is dead. He died over a year ago. And for that long, Camelot has been at war, and for a year or more it and its new king Arthur have been besieged."

These are names and places Merlin knows. "That is bad news," he acknowledges, vaguely. War, it means blood and screaming. He touches the cool crystal wall. "Terrible news," he adds.

"Yes. It is." Lailoken is incredulous. "Don't you want to know who's been besieging him?"

"I don't really understand politics," admits Merlin. He's been learning about great things – about the way the world was put together before Camelot was dreamt of. War and politics are later additions, of no concern to him. They are confusion, and he is interested in order.

Lailoken reaches out and takes his arm. "That's well and good, my son, but I have to insist you come with me. It's Mercians, at the moment, but they're not the problem...well, once you see the visions yourself you'll understand why I came. I _never _come here, Merlin. Ever. I would only come if it were important. This is..." he seems to give up the search for words. "This is a catastrophe. Your destiny is in Camelot. You must come with me."

"I'm sorry," says Merlin, "but I still have a lot to learn. I'll be up when I'm finished." But he can sense pressure building, on the glassy surface of his mind, confusion encroaching on the logic. He keeps calm, though.

"If you wait until you are finished you will be here forever. You cannot learn everything. You cannot even become close." Lailoken is agitated, the Ladies are rising. They have had enough. Merlin looks at the floor. He feels his muscles tense, and the calm of his mind is rattled. "I have to insist, Merlin. I'm sorry."

"_I _have to insist you go, Lailoken," says Nivenne, not sounding sorry.

Merlin says he'll come with him, almost against his own will. He doesn't know he'll say it until it's said. The Ladies say it is his choice, but Merlin can sense their anger at his decision. Emotion is scarce in Avalon, and palpable when present. "You are throwing a great opportunity away," Freya tells him. But when he says that he will be back after calming Lailoken down, shortly, just to make sure the old man is all right, she looks at him like she doesn't believe him. "You'll go to Camelot."

"Oh, but why would I go there?" he wonders, and she looks sad. Why would he go to the blood and screams and pain, when he can have a crystal fortress? Lailoken pulls him away, and up.

*****

The lake they emerge from isn't the one in the forest of Calidon, but the lakeshore near Camelot, the one where Merlin had let Freya go, the one where he had thrown Excalibur into and the one where he had killed the sidhe. Lailoken looks uncomfortable, as they reach the shore, completely dry. He says he doesn't like leaving Calidon, but had to, this time "on account of pressures of time."

But Merlin is barely listening. Even though it is daytime, his eyes are having to adjust to the dim light of the world here, grey and dusky, after the shining beauty of Avalon. Even as he is marvelling at its drabness, which for some reason he had never noticed before, he feels as though he is racing towards a brick wall, and is braced for impact. The emotions attached to the memories are crowding in, suffocating him, like an attack of claustrophobia.

"The rush isn't the siege," Lailoken is saying, anxiously backing towards the water. "Well, I mean it is, of course. It's desperate times. But the rush is the girl, your friend. She's been hunting for you and I saw her in my dreams come to Calidon. She isn't magical, you know, and...well, she suffered. I wanted you to come to her before she got there. You should have been here months ago, you know. But anyway." He smiles slightly lopsidedly and says, "fair winds and following seas to you, Merlin. I'll see you again, I'm sure." And then he is gone, back to the water.

Merlin barely notices. The sheen is coming off his mind, and it is coming back. He has never forgotten Arthur or Camelot or the druid boy or Morgana and the hemlock, or the deaths of the knights or the killing of the Dragon or the persecution at the hands of Uther, the memories have always been there, but he's never thought of them with emotion. They, like everything in Avalon, were mere facts, to store, to categorise, and to put to one side until required. Never forget anything. Never feel anything. But he's feeling now, and it's painful, it makes him stumble for a moment, as though the emotions returning are brickbats to the chest. He remembers Lailoken; Lailoken was scared. What could scare Lailoken? He is stumbling forwards, pushing through the forest on the familiar path, when he sees Gwen. She's cowering behind a rock at his approach, but he sees her, and she sees him. When she recognises him, she steps out. He is taken aback. She is thinner than he remembers, tired, almost in tears and in a cold fury.

"Where have you been?" she hisses. "_Where have you been_?"

*****

She pulls him into the undergrowth, and puts a hand over his mouth. "There are patrols everywhere since the last escapes. I don't know if I was followed. It might have been you I heard."

They wait in silence for a moment. He hears voices, but they move away. It is like being a nightmare, when fear grips you without you even knowing why. There was menace in the very air, yet he couldn't understand it. They were close enough to Camelot that a few more yards would mean they could see the castle through the trees – this was a part of the wood he knew well, from collecting mushrooms, from collecting firewood, from riding with Arthur. There was never any danger here, this was home. Yet today it is full of tension. Every time a leaf moved in the faint breeze Gwen jumps violently. She looks scared, but fierce. She is like a different person.

"Gwen," he says in a low voice, "Gwen, what's going on?"

She looks at him, trying to still look angry, but tears well in her eyes as she stumbles the words out. "Oh Merlin, I've missed you so much. There hasn't been anyone to understand. I had to leave him, to find you, I would never, ever have left if I hadn't known that I had to, if it wasn't this important, it's just who else can talk to him?"

"Arthur?" he asks, mouth dry. His heart is pummelling, and now he just wants to know. "I heard there's a siege."

She looks at him like he's mad. "There's been a siege for months. Before that there was a war." The tears are beginning to roll. "Uther's dead, did you hear? Poisoned. They don't know who did it. It might have been magic." She snorts, indignantly. "Appropriate." She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm sorry, there's no use crying. I try not to. For him. But he doesn't notice. He's..." she looks apprehensive. "He's..." She stands up. "Come on. Quickly. Getting in is almost as difficult as getting out."

"Tell me," he stands to, and takes her arm, urgently. "Tell me." The strangeness is giving him a headache.

"It's the boy." She says, unhappily, looking through the leaves. She looks guilty, aware of the treachery of her words. "That druid boy. I just...don't like him."

"How do you even know him?" He's bewildered. Why would Gwen know the enemy? Why would she even think she _should _like him?

She laughs bitterly. "Who _doesn't_ know him? Haven't you heard _that_ news? He's Arthur's son now. He adopted him."

"He _what_?" The shrill, painful tone of panic that has been ringing in his ears almost makes his head explode.

"I know it sounds crazy," Gwen admits, looking down, as though she feels foolish. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's like_ he's_ ruling Arthur. Not the other way round."

Merlin thinks he may faint for a moment. He rubs his head violently, trying to concentrate. "But this is madness, Gwen. Madness. Why would he adopt the boy?"

Gwen looks even more uncomfortable. "I think Morgana made him."

Just for a moment, the world grinds to a halt around them, he can only see Gwen. The enormity of her words blocks out everything else. "Morg....Morgana's in Camelot?" He can barely talk, with airless lungs. This was true panic, now.

Gwen is fighting tears again as she rushes the words out: "Yes. But no, it isn't like her, and oh, Merlin, you cannot imagine."

He touches her arm, vaguely, and is surprised when she embraces him in a bear hug and sobs against his chest. She keeps apologising. "But you don't understand," she keeps saying, "there isn't anyone else."

So Merlin comforts her, as his skin crawls and the hairs on the back of his neck rises, and for the first time in his life he feels like he could hate Freya.

*****

There is a hush about the castle. They enter via the tunnel they once used to help Mordred escape. The irony is forceful. Now it is Merlin crawling with like an animal through tunnels. Gwen hushes him as they reach the corridor, and a guard passes.

"Why are we hiding from our own side?" he wonders in a whisper.

Gwen says, "we don't have passes." She seems keen to move on from the subject, but Merlin is curious. "They know you. And me, come to that. Why would _we _need a pass?"

She looks at the floor, frowning, having a conversation with herself. Finally she seems to decide to throw caution to the wind. She turns to him in the dark, looking for the first time free from self-restraint. She is going to tell him everything. "They are scared of traitors. They want to know where everyone is, all the time. They check."

"Arthur's scared of traitors?" he's amazed. "Who would betray _him_? The people love him as much as he loves them."

"Exactly," says Gwen, with a vicious levity. She tosses her head, tensely. "And now he doesn't love them at all. There _aren't_ any traitors, at the moment. But if you treat everyone like traitors sooner or later they'll start acting like them."

There is silence between them for a moment. Gwen eyeballs him, defiantly. She has thrown the gauntlet down. He sits down in the dark little corridor, because his legs won't hold him anymore. He listens to the still castle. They're scared of him. They're scared of Arthur. Even Gwen is hiding from him in the shadows. "What's happened?" he asks thin air.

"It isn't the Mercians," snaps Gwen. "Seriously, when you're under siege for a year and that's not your main problem..." she waves a hand, as though to say, 'I give you madness'.

She wants to take him to Arthur, but he stops her. "I'm not sure I would be welcome. Does he ever talk of me?"

She is confused, irritable. She is weary in spirit, but now she wants action, she wants him to talk to Arthur, to make this stop. She tells him impatiently that she hardly sees Arthur now. They keep her from him, she is trying to say, they don't let me see him.

"Yes, but when was the last time you heard him ask for me?" asks Merlin, and can sense her frustration.

"I don't know. After Uther died, that's all he kept saying. That you'd be here. He told me..." she looks around nervously, before half-laughing at herself. "I don't know why I just did that, magic is legal now. He told me you were magic. He said you would know Uther was dead and you would come back. But you didn't." She doesn't hide the accusatory tone, he doesn't blame her. She wants to know why he abandoned Arthur. But she will never ask, she would never ask that, in case it made Arthur look weak.

He says that he hadn't heard; he was a long way away. He keeps looking around, uneasily. There's a definite twang of electricity in the air, like places of the Old Religion, but with malice. He has never felt it here before.

"He sent scouts for you as far as Orkney," says Gwen, shortly. "And all the way down to Cornwall. Then the war got so bad and siege began and he couldn't spare any more men to look. And then the boy came, and Morgana, and maybe he thought he didn't need you anymore. But I thought maybe you were in Calidon and the Old Religion was keeping the scouts out, or they didn't think to look. That's where I was going when I found you. I decided to look there. Even if..." she lets the sentence hang, but he knows the end of it. Even if it killed her, she would try and find him. That's how scared she is for Arthur.

"I don't think the boy or Morgana would want me here," he tells her, quietly.

She scowls. "Merlin. They don't want _anyone _here." She looks at him. "You just have no idea."


	8. Chapter 8

I've always known how the story will end, for some reason it's taking me ages to write it. Anyway, there will be one more chapter after these two, if these two haven't killed it off completely. Please let me know what you think, and thank you for all the kind words so far!

**White Lies Chapter Eight **

She can't make him understand, but then she never thought she could. He would understand, once he saw Arthur. He would get it. As much as anyone could. There weren't words. He had to _see_.

"I have to see him alone," Merlin says, urgently. "I can't see him with Morgana or Mordred."

His naivety makes her laugh, but harshly. She hasn't laughed genuinely in longer than she can remember. "Merlin, he's _never _alone. One or both of them are always with them. Even at night, Royns sleeps outside the door and he reports directly to Morgana. When he rides out against the Mercians – which is _never_, anymore, just by the way – even then the boy goes along with him." She realises her hands have become fists. She wants to stop talking about it, and _do _something about it, for the love of sanity, _let's do something about it._

"Can't you hold Morgana up tomorrow morning?" he asks, quickly.

She frowns, as he runs on with a plan and then realises his mistake. "Merlin," she sighs. "I'm not Morgana's servant. Morgana put me to work in the laundry. She said I was a traitor because I was too familiar with the king. I was lucky not to be put to death, but the boy spoke for me." Her eyes are stinging again, at the memory of the humiliation, but she won't cry, not again. She's got used to fighting the tears down and only letting them fall silently at night, but now she's started crying she can't stop. It isn't the harshness or bad treatment that's broken her, but a familiar friendly face. "I would almost rather be dead than living at his mercy."

"It isn't mercy," says Merlin, distantly. "He hasn't got mercy. You must be too valuable to him."

But Gwen doesn't understand, because she doesn't feel valuable to anyone, anymore.

He makes her take him to Gaius, which she does, because she's too tired to fight. Gaius' room is full – in every room of the castle practically there are campbeds and the dispossessed of the razed lower town sleep fearfully, and live quietly.

Gaius is amazed at her quick and successful return, but his joy at seeing Merlin is tempered by Merlin's shattered expression as he casts a glance around the shanty town that the physician's quarters have become. She can't be angry at him for staying away, not when she sees him like this, eyes wide with shock and pain. Nothing she says can make him feel his absence any harder than he already does.

"Is Arthur under an enchantment?" he asks Gaius, voice choked.

"None that I've ever seen," Gaius responds, gravely. They talk briefly about possible magic it could be, but neither have any idea. "I'm beginning to wonder if it's just... _him_," admits Gaius, tiredly. "Kingship can change people, especially with the stressful circumstances of Arthur's first years as king. His father...his father was quite different as a prince than as a king." Gaius was the only one to regret Uther's passing, Gwen believes.

"No." Both she and Gaius look up, Merlin sounds uncharacteristically aggressive. He points firmly at Gaius, voice steady despite his swimming eyes. "No, this isn't him. It isn't the king he will be and it definitely isn't the person he is. We'll fix this. I'll fix this. I have to go to him. You're right, Gwen, I have to see him. Now."

Gaius gently points out that he's tried to kill both Morgana and Mordred. "When?" she asks, surprised; the words out before she could stop them. Merlin doesn't look her in the eye. "Never mind," she says. "I don't want to know." A few years ago, the revelation would have shocked and repulsed her. Now she doesn't even really care. Morgana and Mordred are like malignant shadows to Arthur, not real people. Morgana certainly doesn't bear any resemblance except a physical one to the woman she knew. They are the enemy. It's as simple as that. The sting of personal betrayal she once felt from Morgana is gone now. It's like she never knew her at all.

"He'll be in the Great Hall," she says. "He's at a council meeting, but they'll be there, making sure about what he does." She walks with Merlin, excitement building in her bones. It's been months, grinding months, of not having the faintest idea of how to stop this. The adrenaline makes her talk, in a way she wouldn't normally. But she wants to tell Merlin this, something she hasn't told any other living person, and something she never believed she would. But she feels they are walking into battle now, and if there is a deathbed confession she possessed, it is this.

"He asked me to marry him, you know," she says, lightly and flippantly, as though even if Merlin didn't know, it would be perfectly natural for him to assume it.

Merlin is amazed, but to her surprise, his amazement is not at the proposal. He's amazed at the refusal. "You said no?" he asks, in disbelief.

"I did," she says, with false cheer. "I said to him, 'kings don't marry maids'. And he said..." she puts on the Arthur swagger and a deep voice "he said, 'this king does'." She laughs, but not with humour, or viciously, with real sadness. It is a sadness beyond tears. It had been a shock. He had appeared at her door with a bouquet of wildflowers. She had been expecting him, of course, they had been seeing a lot of each other in the months between Merlin leaving and Uther dying. But she had never thought of him as hers. She had never thought it possible. And once she had said no, she couldn't take it back, even if she had wanted to. And she didn't want to be queen, anyway. "He was such an idiot, wasn't he? He was really something."

Merlin says, "you talk about him as though he were dead."

Gwen doesn't answer, but thinks that he _is _dead. That boy _is _dead. The slightly oafish charm he had is entirely vanished. She had thought that was her deathbed confession – the proposal – but the sharing of it has raised another one, one that she hasn't even really dared vocalise to herself before. "Sometimes I worry that I did this to him. By saying no. If I'd said yes, they wouldn't have got so close to him." She looks down the corridor, her tone carefully matter-of-fact.

Merlin copies the tone as he says, "they would have found another way."

He's probably right, Gwen reflects, but the guilt stays.

They stop by the door. The guards squint at the two unlikely candidates for entry. "I've found Merlin," she says, with more confidence than she feels. "The king asked for him. I've found him. Can we see the king?"

The guard looks doubtful. "The king is busy."

"He'll see Merlin."

"He'll see me," Merlin confirms. "He's been sending embassies to the north looking for me, and here I am. He won't thank you for delaying me." The lies come to him so swiftly, and he delivers them so cleanly, that Gwen can't help but be impressed.

"He hasn't said anything," replies the guard, suspiciously, although the hand relaxes on the sword.

"You know what he's like now," cajoles Gwen, with a levity she doesn't feel. "Never tells us anything, does he? Come on, Bryn. I found Merlin when I was collecting mushrooms, and if I help bring him to the king, maybe he'll let me out of the wretched laundry. What do you say?"

The guard snorts, and then sighs. "All right, I'll announce you. Don't make me regret it, eh?"

The big door swings open, and Gwen finds herself sneaking behind the guard. She looks to Merlin, who is pale but determined. She's waited months for this, and now she feels sick. This was it, bringing Merlin back, this was Plan A. And there is no Plan B. If this doesn't work, Arthur is lost and Camelot with him.

The mood in the Great Hall is decidedly sombre. The council sits around the table looking, to a man, thoroughly miserable. Sir Kay, the only one around the table Gwen knows well, is sitting nearest the door, and furthest away from the king. He is leaning back in his chair, elbow on the armrest, chin in the palm of his hand. He is staring, with undisguised loathing, up the table, to Royns, who is talking in his bored-sounding monotone. And at the head, sits Arthur, in his father's old chair, with his father's crown on his forehead. Next to him on the right, sits the boy, in Arthur's old chair with Arthur's old crown on his forehead. And next to Arthur on the left, is Morgana, in her old position. And all three stare down at the council, as frozen and cold as though set in marble.


	9. Chapter 9

**White Lies Chapter Nine**

A coldness sweeps over him in a wave. Arthur looks at him blankly. For a moment, Merlin wonders, does he remember me?

"Sire," he says, and kneels. He waits for the order to get up. It does not come. Finally he lifts his eyes. The boy is staring at him, the same, implacable stare that he gave him the first day they met, the same implacable stare he always gives, of one taking note of what one day he will destroy. "You sent for me," he adds. He wonders, why can't I hear the boy? He searches his mind for the boy's voice, but it isn't there.

Arthur, slowly, lifts his disinterested eyes from Merlin to Mordred. Mordred in turn looks languidly from Merlin to Arthur. They exchange a look, Mordred's cold eyes to Arthur's empty ones. A permission is granted, silently. Arthur turns back to Merlin and says emotionlessly, "Welcome, Merlin. That was a long time ago, I sent for you. Things are better, now." He speaks as though declaiming to an audience, his eyes resting somewhere an inch or so above Merlin's face. There is no intimacy, it is as though they have never met before.

"The Mercians are still at the gate," points out Merlin, he still hasn't been given permission to stand, but he does so anyway. Arthur's lip curls slightly, but he doesn't say anything.

Morgana, who has been looking at Merlin lazily, suddenly spots Gwen and says sharply, "What are you doing here?"

Gwen stammers that she was out collecting mushrooms, and Morgana spits "from the laundry?" Arthur continues staring ahead, if he even hears Morgana it is impossible to tell. She dismisses Gwen, who leaves, face defiant with tears unshed. As she leaves, she casts a glance at Merlin, weary, but hopeful. He is the only cause of that hope, and all he feels in return is despair.

He looks back at Morgana, who is tensely watching Gwen until the door closes behind her. "My lady," he says, "I'm relieved to see you are recovered. The last time I saw you..." maybe it was madness, but it had to be addressed. Why is he allowed to live?

Morgana's eyes are back to indifference. "Thank you, Merlin," she says, politely. She turns to Arthur and says, "Merlin was there when Morgause kidnapped me." She looks back to Merlin and says levelly "I was lucky to survive her poison." But her eyes are telling him a different story. It is as though they are all in an elaborate fairytale created for the benefit of Arthur, and Merlin finds himself scared to break the facade until he knows what's underneath.

"How did you escape her?" he asks, testing the ground gingerly.

Morgana looks down at her hands and says briefly, "the king rescued me."

"Merlin – " begins Arthur, dully, but Mordred interrupts. "His _real _name is Emrys."

"Emrys –" begins Arthur, again, mechanically, but this time it's Merlin who leaps in.

"That isn't my name. Don't call me that." He hates that his distress is seeping into his voice. He can't stand it, he can't bear to hear Arthur call him that, wiping out the years of friendship.

"It _is _your name." The boy speaks, in a voice of light, cool kindness that makes Merlin's skin crawl with its insincerity. "It was stolen from you by the traitor Uther. He stole it all from you. But now you can reclaim it. Under us." He is close to him now, and rests a hand on his arm. He stares into Merlin's face with his ice blue eyes. "Under my father and I."

Merlin thinks he might be sick. He looks up at Arthur, who hasn't flinched. Gwen had said she would rather be dead than at the boy's mercy, and he had told her it wasn't mercy. And it isn't. It is silent vengeance. And it's more frightening than anything Merlin's experienced before, more frightening than the Dragon's attack on Camelot, more frightening than the marching trees at Calidon, more frightening because in those cases he was fighting for victory, in this case it is as though he is already defeated.

"Good," is all he can say, his throat dry and seizing up. It is something like panic, now. "That's good."

A silence falls. Morgana is still watching him, one eyebrow slightly raised. Mordred continues to hold his arm, like a dead weight. And Arthur carries on staring vacantly into the distance. He wants to leave, but Mordred's touch holds him. He cannot leave without the boy's permission, this is clear.

"Why are you here?" asks Mordred, in his icy friendliness. "And how long for?"

"I don't know yet. I was hoping...I was hoping to catch up with Arthur, and see if I can help."

"That's kind of you," says Mordred, squeezing his arm like a pinch. "Very kind of you. Isn't it, father? But we don't need your help. And the king is very busy. Things are perfectly under control. Do enjoy your stay, though." He releases Merlin, eyes casting their pall over him once more, turning back to the thrones. As he reaches the dais, he glances swiftly at Arthur, who, without changing expression, chants, "yes, enjoy your stay, Merlin. You're dismissed."

There's nothing left to say or do. As though in a dream, Merlin nods curtly to the royal family, and begins the long walk back towards the door, feeling as though he is moving through water. As he passes the council members, Sir Kay suddenly rises and grips his arm in a vice-like handshake. Morgana calls, "Sir Kay?" and there's a noise as Mordred pushes back his chair to stand. But Merlin sees neither of them, as Kay presses his hand and pulls him in for a hug. In his ear, he breathes "8pm, stables", and then pulls away, to sit, as both Mordred and Morgana stand, watching.

It is all Merlin can do to walk steadily to the door.

****

"Freya!" he yells and he doesn't care. He doesn't care if the Mercians hear him, he doesn't care if the Camelot guards hear him, he doesn't care if Mordred's gang hears him. "_Freya_!" His voice echoes around the lake, drifting through the forest behind him.

"You're meant to call me 'my Lady', you know." She walks from the lake as though the water were no obstacle, dry, and somewhat irritated looking. "I knew you'd come back to Camelot," she adds, sniffily. "I told you so, didn't I?" She's in a petty mood. He doesn't have time.

"Can you imagine how much faster I'd have been here if I'd been told?"

"Told what?"

"Freya. Camelot is under siege from the exterior and a coup on the interior. How could you do this to me? How could you not tell me?"

Freya frowns. "In the greater scheme of things –"

"Oh hang your greater scheme of things!" he's too angry to lower his voice. "Greater scheme of things? What's greater than a kingdom imploding? Arthur is...I don't even know what's wrong with him. He's lost himself. He needs me. Camelot needs me. And I need you to help me."

She wrinkles her nose. "Why would I help Camelot? Why do you imagine this is important to me? Camelot was a place of persecution and intolerance to our kind for years, Merlin. Arthur and his father hunted me like an animal. My life was valueless to them, because of who I was, when I offered them no threat. Why do you imagine the fall of Camelot is something that doesn't bring me joy?"

"All those innocent people – "

"All those innocent people, who let the Pendragons impose a regime of terror. The Pendragons ruled, but no one ever tried to stop them." She pauses. "Merlin, it brings you pain, which isn't something I want. But I offered you help once, and you walked away from it. If you want my help, our help, come back to Avalon with me. There's still a lot we can teach you. But Camelot's problem...Camelot's problem isn't our problem." She takes both his hands in hers, and looks at him intently. "Let events take their course, Merlin. They are not your concern anymore."

"You would have Mordred in charge?" he asks, incredulous.

She smiles, beatifically, and moves closer. "Oh Merlin," she says, and she's never looked so beautiful. "I don't care. Mordred, Arthur, what does any of it matter? Can't you see? These things come and they go, they don't concern us. The Old Religion outlasts all petty squabbles."

"This is _about _the Old Religion. Can't you see that? Do you really think Mordred will stop at Camelot? He's occupying everywhere! Le Val sans Retour! The Isle of Blessed! The forest of Broceliande!"

"He hasn't shed any blood in any of those holy places," she says, sharply, dropping his arms. But for once, he can see something else, beside placidity, in her deep eyes. He knows he is getting through.

"Not yet," he says, "but when he's taken Camelot? When he's destroyed Mercia? When he has as many troops and riches as he can dream of, do you not think he will come for you?"

"These are not my concerns," she says, eyelids shielding her expression, and begins walking back to the lake.

"Freya," he says, pleadingly. "You preach peace and order. Do you really think Mordred's rule will bring those things to Albion?" She stops. She doesn't look back. And then she carries on walking.

****

Sir Kay talks briefly, in short sentences, in a low voice. They crouch together in a hayloft, like rats. If it weren't for all the other unbelievable things Merlin had experienced in the last 24 hours, this would incredible, he, Arthur's loyal and trusted servant, and the finest knight of Camelot, cowering together in a stable. Kay jumps violently at every sound.

He explains the military situation, which is desperate. "The king doesn't ride out anymore against the Mercians," he says, "and food is short. Morale is low. Our only hope is that the Mercians run out of supplies before we do. They are fighting a war on two fronts. But even if they do, there are plenty of other enemies at the gate. War is across the island, and Camelot is a sitting duck. They see – " he stops abruptly. "They _think _they see a weak king," he concludes, carefully.

Merlin bites a nail.

"I can't believe you've been in Calidon," observes Kay, finally. "I've been scared in battle before, but never abject fear like that before."

"It's nothing to the scariness here," says Merlin, without any exaggeration. "It's a world gone completely mental. I feel like there's nothing solid to hang onto."

"There's Camelot," says Kay, grimly. "I don't know what madness has come onto the king, Merlin, but it _is _a madness, and he can recover from it. What I cling to is the fortress. If we can defend that, if we can keep that, everything else is recoverable." He drops his voice even lower. "It isn't the Mercians that scare me most of all, though. It's closer to home."

"The boy?"

Kay nods. "The boy controls him. I don't know how. He just appeared one day, when the Lady Morgana returned. The boy convinces him not to fight. The boy is leading us to ruin. The boy and the Lady Morgana. They act together. It's magic, I think, but I can't prove it." He looks anxious. "The king said you were magic, when he sent us to find you."

"Not magic like that. This is bad magic." They both freeze as they hear movement below them. Royns is looking into the barn, looking fretful. As he moves on, Kay breathes into Merlin's ear: "He's looking for us."

Merlin sits back, and tries to marshal his thoughts into sense. As he does so, Kay carries on talking about Royns, quietly and bitterly. "...it's just because he was the only one with Arthur when he rescued Morgana," he concludes, and Merlin looks up. "Ever since then, he's been like _that _with them. Before that, the king hated him. But then before that the king was completely different."

"Royns was the only one there?"

Kay rolls his eyes. "The king had some sort of dream about where to find Morgana. He took a few of his best knights to Le Val sans Retour. Me and Gawain and Royns – he only took Royns because he wanted to keep an eye on him. He hated him. Then we got there and Gawain and I got separated. There was a thick mist, Royns and he vanished into it and before we knew what was what..." he clicks his fingers. "There they were. Royns and Morgana, and the king looking..._so strange_. Strange like he looks now. He hasn't been the same since." He glances at Merlin, asking anxiously, "you agree? That he is strange?"

Merlin says he emphatically agrees. Kay looks relieved. They sit silently for a moment. "You agree it's magic?" Kay finally asks, shyly, not quite meeting Merlin's eyes.

"Of course it's magic!" Merlin exhales softly, thinking fast about Kay's words. "What else would it be?"

Kay looks glum. The people think Arthur's a chip off the old block. The people think Arthur's like his father. Kay knows it isn't true. But even he sometimes forgets.

"You need to show me where in Le Val sans Retour," he says, suddenly. "I mean, exactly. A mist that separates you and new king comes out of it? I need to go there."

Kay looks doubtful, and begins "I wouldn't normally leave Camelot in a time of war -"

"Is this normal?" snaps Merlin, one foot on the hay loft ladder.

Kay thinks for a moment, and then agrees.


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry for the late update. I always knew exactly how I was going to finish the story, but recently moved countries and with all the chaos, broke the writing habit. Also, I don't have any Merlin DVDs so if I've completely lost the characters by now, that's because the last time I heard them talk was December! Anyway, thank you for making it this far, especially those of you who have reviewed with your thoughts all the way through, it means a great deal for you taking the time. (I'm afraid there's one more chapter to go if you can stand it: a major delay was that I'm completely OCD and wanted the story to be even chapters, but unfortunately it will end up being eleven. I know it's insane, but for ages I tried to make it work with ten. The last one will be soon!)

**White Lies Chapter Ten**

The early morning is freezing cold. Merlin's tired to the core of his being, and knows Kay must be too, it has been a long night of quiet riding, ears alert to any sounds of being followed – which side they should fear more he doesn't know – the Mercians, or Mordred. They don't have a side of their own, except maybe Gwen, and she has no idea where they are.

Kay pulls his horse up and turns weary eyes to Merlin. In the grey dawn, his face is completely pale. "It's around here," he says. "It's time to leave the horses."

The entry to Le Val sans Retour is grim. The valley itself is quite shallow, bleak with a low-lying confusion of brambles and shrubs, and a few beaten trees against a colourless sky. A small, icy stream trickles along the bottom, filling out into a small lake. The slopes aren't steep, and beyond them is just a vista of dull moorland. It isn't at all how Merlin imagined. The only hint that they are in the right place is the faint vibration in the air he associates with places of the Old Religion. Kay walks slightly ahead, sword in attack position, looking one of the most miserable men alive.

Later, Merlin couldn't work out where the mist came from. He should have been able to see its approach, down the valley. He was looking so closely at his surroundings. But just as Kay says, 'it was around here', Merlin notices a wisp of mist and when he looks again, he can see nothing. He is completely disorientated, stumbling forwards, shouting Kay's name, but his voice just reverberates dully back at him, the mist completely swallowing any sound. He can't hear a thing, apart from his own thrashing around the undergrowth. Then a cold hand grabs him, pulls him, and suddenly he's free from the mist. He's in a shallow basin, the valley stretching behind him in the mist, before him is the small lake, with low trees all round. And Freya.

"What are you doing here? Where's Kay?" he's confused, as befuddled as though the mist had seeped into his brain, he can barely see straight anymore. He strains his ears, he thinks he can hear Kay blundering around in the mist behind them.

"Listen to me," she's speaking urgently, looking over her shoulder. "I want to help you. But you have to help us, you have to help our sister, Morgana. She's one of us, Merlin, but she is far from her path now she's with Mordred. You have to help her. You mustn't harm her."

He peers at her. "I don't care about harming Morgana," he says, slowly. "I just want to help Arthur."

Freya seems satisfied with this. "Then you'll need this." She points to the floor, where a beautiful sword lies, etched with gold. As Merlin bends to pick it, he realises he's seen it before, the day Uther killed the dead.

"It's Arthur's sword," he says, half to himself.

"Yes. It will only work for him." She's still looking over her shoulder, she's doing nothing to calm Merlin's nerves. "Sir Kay is safe," she adds, briefly, as though reading his mind. "He cannot pass through the mist. He's safe, but he can't come any further. He's not an oath-breaker, and only oath-breakers can pass through. "

"Neither am I," he says, looking up, but even as he says it, even as he meets Freya's eyes, he knows it's a lie. He swore an oath to protect Arthur, and he failed, dramatically, spectacularly, loitering around Avalon for years while Camelot burned.

"Trust me. Follow me," says Freya, in a tone of voice that broaches no argument, it's an order, a statement of fact and then she is gone, back under the still water, and he's completely alone, in the windswept valley, with a sword he cannot use, a bleak landscape in front of him and an impenetrable mist behind him. He can't even vaguely hear Kay anymore, he must have struggled off into the wrong direction. He has no idea what he expected to find, but standing awkwardly on a lakeshore at a loose end certainly wasn't something to occur to him.

"Freya?" he asks, in a small voice. But she is gone. He ambles to the lake and peers in. He can't see any glow of Avalon. It's shallow, and there are only pebbles down there. "Kay?" he calls. But his voice echoes sadly. He begins to feel silly. This isn't helping. This is wasting more time. He wanders back along the lakeshore, further into the valley. It's utterly deserted. There are no animals, or birds, or any noise at all apart from the wind screaming across the moors above the valley.

And then he sees it, amongst the pebbles in the shallow water. He walks into the water, because he can't believe his eyes. He thinks he's imagining it. But no, it's true. It's the same crystal, tiny parts, but the same crystal that made up the Crystal of Neahtid. It pierces his brain, an exquisite agony directly behind his left eye. He begins to follow it, along the rocky shore, an uneven trail of small, stinging crystal pieces, by now he's drenched. As he wades deeper, he sees Freya waiting for him, looking impatient. She is pointing to the far shore, to a small rocky inlet. He pushes on, each step requiring immense strength. Freya has reached the shore – apparently effortlessly – and has disappeared into a cave. He pulls himself up the shore and into the cave with considerably more effort. The cave wall sparkles with crystal, setting off a low hum in his brain, as though there are fingers feeling into his mind, searching for weaknesses, he squeezes his eyes against the nausea. He pulls the sword with him, it's heavy, as are his wet clothes, and his head, and, unable to fight the overwhelming weight on his body anymore he lowers himself to the floor, closing his eyes, and resting, he tells himself just briefly, while bright images he can't identify dance in front of his eyelids, before Freya drags him to his feet. "I can't stay here," she hisses in his ear, looking urgently around her. "I shouldn't be here, I can't be here, you're the only person I would trust with this." He leans against the wall, his head lolling on his chest as she grips his shoulders. He can't really focus on her, she's surrounded by crowding, uncontrolled figures, their constant movement is making him sick. "He's through there," she says, with another violent shake. "Remember the sword." She picks it up and hands it back to him. She has to give it to him a few times before he remembers he has to move his fingers to grip it. "And your promise," she adds. "Don't hurt her. You'll bring her to me afterwards, I can help her." And she's gone, even as he tries to tell her that she can't go, partly because he doesn't understand what she's on about but, mostly, because he's about to be sick. But he doesn't get a chance to say any of that: he's so stupefied the time between thought and action is too long, and she is already gone. Merlin leans against the wall, fighting the sickness, trying to edit out the screaming white noise and images, even as the cave reels away from him and he bends over and vomits.

He stumbles through the low tunnel, gradually unscrunching his eyes. The world still takes unexpected lurches, and there's still more background noise than normal, but he's beginning to cope better. He drags the sword behind him, determinedly. He can see a blueish glow ahead of him, and he's staring at it as though if he blinks it may go. All his energy, all his purpose, is now on that end point, his whole world has become about reaching it. He has no idea what it is, or what is there, but he no longer cares. He keeps his jaw firmly closed against the nausea, and breathes heavily through his nose, keeping his eyes ahead, ignoring the shards of crystal attacking in the corner of his eyes. It's all about the blue glow.

The cavern is vast, it reaches up into the darkness. Most of its wide diameter is in total blackness, except at the centre, where a blindingly beautiful table made entirely of crystal explodes into colour, a ball of blue flame bright in the total black. Its brightness sends Merlin floundering back into the tunnel for a moment, as though hit in the face by a thousand shards of glass to the face, the images hammer into his eyes – Camelot flaming, Kay's throat slashed by Royns on a windswept moor, and Arthur bending to the king of the Mercians – while Gwen's screams echo in his head, and he lies, eyes shut, thinking, I cannot go in there. Even as he feels tears in his eyes, as the initial sting of the sight of the table subsides, still with his eyes shut, he feels it – the sword...he opens one eye, quickly glancing to his side, where the sword lies, burning a bright blue. For a mad moment he thinks of Roderch's sword, but this is brighter. Roderch's must have been forged in dragon's breath too, he thinks vaguely, although not for Arthur. But this one was forged for Arthur.

Exhausted by this simple thought process he shuts his eyes again. He tries to think, and then, slowly and without _completely _knowing why, he scrambles to his feet, turns back to the cavern, and walks in, shielding his eyes as best he can from the impact and there, lying in the centre of the blue light, is Arthur. The sword is humming now and is almost uncomfortable to carry with the vibrations. But Merlin barely notices, staring as he is thoughtfully at the man on the table. He is having to keep thoughts very simple, to avoid flooding his brain with the chaos that is trying to gatecrash his mind.

Arthur is on the table. His eyes are shut, he is motionless and he is light blue in the crystal's glow, but he is clearly alive. It isn't, of course, impossible that Arthur didn't notice Merlin and Kay's absence and ride out after them, getting trapped here somehow afterwards. That isn't impossible, Merlin mentally agrees with himself, but equally it's highly improbable. Firstly, Arthur doesn't notice much anymore. But even assuming Royns or the boy or Morgana noticed, it was a damn quick turnaround, and how would he end up here? Even as he's rationalising it to himself, Merlin is dismissing this theory. He knows, he simply knows, that Arthur's been here an awfully long time. He's been here since the mist separated him from Kay, he's been here for a year, he's been here the whole time. The weird shadow of the king at Camelot was magic. The king wasn't like himself because the king _wasn't _himself. Merlin is surprisingly relieved by this revelation. Still shielding his eyes, he reaches for the table. As he steps into its glow, a force hits his body with such overwhelming strength that he is thrown against the table, headbutting it with such violence that his mouth immediately fills with the salty taste of blood. Inside the crystal's glow, his skull now feels constricted, scalp crawling, vision completely swamped with disconnected images, he grips the table, but the world whirs around him, then cutting through his total disorientation, he hears a voice say "did my sisters teach you nothing?"

It's Morgause, he can't see her because he's still got his eyes shut, holding his breath and trying to reconnect with the ground. Even behind his eyelids, there are endless flashes and movement. He lets his breath out and takes another to hold. He can't breathe naturally, it's too painful, every movement screams, his body feels as though it's on fire. "No," he gasps, "No, why would they teach me about this? It might have helped." It's uncharitable, he thinks, Avalon _was _helpful. He just can't quite remember how now. None of the things he learned there seem to apply here. He becomes aware that the sword is vibrating so much it's barely controllable.

Morgause seems to approve of this comment. "We have a similar view of the helpfulness of my sisters," she agrees. She seems to be waiting. "Not many people are affected by this crystal," she observes, as though she's impressed by his writhing. "You have to be terribly gifted to be able to use it. For example, being in here gives me a faint headache and I'm probably the most sensitive of all the Ladies. The only other person in the world who would be as affected as you are is the boy. You are a rare beast indeed, Merlin."

Merlin puts a hand across his face, trying to wipe away the sweat, trying to get a sense of where all the bits of his body were in relation to all the other bits. "Thanks," he bites out, swallowing hard to battle the seemingly incessant nausea. He vaguely remembers a time when he didn't feel as though his stomach was heaving, but it is a distant memory.

"You're here to rescue him, I suppose?" prompts Morgause, with a slight impatience.

He rolls around, so he is leaning with his back to the table, and hauls himself to his feet. He opens his eyes as much as he can while retaining his thought processes, and sees Morgause not far from him, staring at him doubtfully. "Yes," he confirms weakly, losing a grip on the table and stumbling until he finds it again. "Let him go," he adds.

"Merlin," says Morgause, with a sigh. She begins walking towards him. "We aren't going to do that."

"Have you got Morgana here too somewhere?"

Morgause snorts. "Of course not. Morgana is more herself now than she has ever been." She stands before him now, looking at him with that same cold concern that had turned his blood cold when she had been raising Arthur's mother's ghost, she had been looking at Arthur in the same way. The expression that said 'you have no idea the depths to which I will go, and that makes me sad'. He felt his knees buckling again, the fog is clouding his mind again, and, throwing the now trembling, glowing sword on the table, he sinks back down to a sitting position. A degree of helplessness was setting in. What could he do? He could barely coordinate breathing, much less anything else.

"I should tell you," continued Morgause as though reading his mind, now bending down to his level, "that your powers won't work in here. None of them. You can't harness them, you see, when you're in confusion like this."

Merlin, unable to hold his head up and barely able to speak because his tongue felt swollen, thinks that he wouldn't know how anyway. He doesn't even have the energy to panic.

"You can't keep him here forever," he says.

Morgause smiles sympathetically. "Yes, we can, Merlin. We won't _want _to, but we could if we did. We need _our_ Arthur out there for the time being, which is reliant on the original still being here, but presently our copy won't be needed anymore and then we can dispose of this one too. And then we have destroyed the Pendragons and much of Albion and then Mordred will rule the shattered remains and, frankly, our victory will be complete. And now you are here, Merlin, there's really not a lot you can do about it." She is still speaking as though sorrowful that Merlin couldn't be brought round to her viewpoint.

Merlin shuts his eyes against the noise and mayhem of unbidden snippets of various futures he probably will never see and says, "so that's your plan?"

"Yes," agrees Morgause, still as softly-spoken as a caring mother to a fractious child, "yes, that's our plan and as you can see, you don't feature in it. You'll never be one of us. As long as he's alive, you'll always find him, you see?"

"Yes." Some things aren't worth dying for. It wasn't worth dying at Uther's hand for his stupid laws. But it's worth dying rather than walking away from this.

"Yes." She continues examining him scientifically for a moment. Finally she walks away and says a few words. She comes back with a delicate chain of the crystals. "I think the druid boy will want to deal with you himself," she says. "I'm going to give him the good news and find out where he will want you. I expect it will a public execution by the order of King Arthur in Camelot. But I cannot be sure. So you stay here and wait for me, please."

She carefully tied the chain to a leg of the table, and then around Merlin's wrist. It takes every ounce of Merlin's strength to wait until she has gone to scream with pain, as the crystals dig into and scald his flesh.

"_Arthur!" _he screams.

Arthur opens his eyes.

There aren't many things which can break enchantments. Love is one of them. And pretty much anything forged in dragon's breath for the sole use of the enchanted person is another.

Arthur opens his eyes. This surprises him as he doesn't remember shutting his eyes. He doesn't remember lying down. He certainly doesn't remember a cave. He tries to remember what he _does _remember. He remembers the mist, and shouting for Kay. He remembers finding Morgana lying on the shore. And then he doesn't remember anything else. Or does he? He feels like there is something there...some memory...but every time he almost gets a grip on it, it slips away. He can remember _around _it, but there's a memory-shaped hole there and...

"OW!" He sits bolt upright, pushing the sword from his skin. The sword, thrown by his side by Merlin, is now white hot to the touch, burning a bright blue, resting on his arm. It has left a pure white mark on his skin. "Ow, ow, ow, ow." He says again, just for something to say, and also because a burn that hot _should _still be hurting, although the mark is entirely painless. "Ow." He adds again, still trying to find a memory to explain his current position. He frowns at the sword. It isn't even his sword. "Morgana?" he tries. Nothing. A blue crystal table in a dark cave. It doesn't seem promising. "Kay?" he tries again, with even less anticipation of success than before.

Nothing. If he could remember why he was in this cave, he might have more of a chance of getting out of it. He had dreamt he would find Morgana by the lake in Le Val sans Retour, he remembers. And he had found her there. But then, but then...

"Morgause was there," he says, out loud still. Morgause was there, and Morgana wasn't afraid of her, quite the contrary. And then...nope, still nothing. But there's no point lying around here, he decides.

He swings his legs over the side of the table, jumps down and falls straight over the motionless body of Merlin.


	11. Chapter 11

Okay done, finished, it's all over. Sorry it's so long, I hope it doesn't disappoint. Once again thank you so much to everyone whose reviewed, I massively appreciate every single review and am very grateful for no one flaming me (yet). You've all been very kind and patient, and I hope one day to write more stories. Thanks!

**Chapter Eleven**

He's dead.

That's what Arthur first thinks. Before he even wonders what Merlin's doing there, he thinks he's dead. He's so shocked to see him, and so shocked to see him dead, that he can't even form a thought about what that means. Instead he just stands and stares down.

The body is on the ground, slumped against the table. His face is bruised, and there's a trickle of dried blood from his mouth. His clothes are filthy, and damp, his skin sallow in the blue light, eyelids lightly dropped. He doesn't look alive.

Arthur peers down, air leaving his lungs. He reaches out and touches Merlin's head. "Merlin?" he says with real sadness, as he realises that almost nothing in his life makes sense anymore. He's in a cave, and Merlin's dead, and he can't work out how either of those things could be.

Merlin stirs, Arthur yelps and falls backwards. Merlin opens his eyes a little sleepily and seems as surprised to see Arthur as Arthur is to see him.

"Arthur?"

"Merlin?" he's beginning to feel that he has to create sense and logic here, it isn't going to come naturally, especially if they keep chanting their names at each other. Suddenly he's cross. He's angry. He's just woken up in a cave. He doesn't understand why they are here, and most of all, he doesn't understand where Merlin's been. "I've been looking _everywhere _for you!" he shouts. "Where have you been? Have you been in here? Do you have _any idea_? My father's dead and..."

"Please stop shouting," whispers Merlin, passing a shaking hand across his face.

"The Mercians are on the rise..." continues Arthur, dropping his voice slightly but still somewhat irate. "And Morgana –" again, the memory won't quite come – "Morgana's _somewhere _around here in the clutches of that crazy Morgause and – have you been here all along? Why are you in a cave? What's going on? How did I get here? Did _you_ bring that bloody sword? It burned me! Where's the way ou – are you all right?" he interrupts himself, re-entering orbit to note that, whereas he had woken up as right as rain, Merlin's face is a picture of awfulness.

"I think I'm going to be sick," says Merlin, glassy-eyed, before proving himself a true prophet.

Arthur stands, nonplussed. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, although with real concern piercing the pettiness. "You look awful." He looks around for water. There isn't any. He sighs, frustrated and not willing to give up the high horse yet.

Merlin, apparently incapable of maintaining even a sitting position mutters "it's the crystal", before saying something about Kay.

"Kay's still here? Good! What crystal, the table?" he looks at the table. It's beautiful, he can't see why it would be making anyone sick. Then his eyes trail a line of crystals to Merlin's wrist, where they are leaving a livid red mark.

"Morgause'll come back, with the boy," gasps Merlin, "and...no..." he winces, pushing the heel of his hand into his eyes, as though trying to eliminate images. Finally he just relaxes. "It must have been the sword," he says. "That broke the enchantment."

He is now lying on the floor, and looks up at Arthur's irritable face. He smiles, broadly. "It's so nice to see you." He says, and passes out again.

Merlin's heavy. By the time Arthur's dragged him to the exit of the tunnel, his arms are killing him. He brought the sword too, in case Merlin was right and Morgause is about. He had approached it with caution, but now, safely in the right hands, the sword is cool and still, with only a faint gleam to signify its hidden qualities. It had broken the chain of crystals around Merlin's wrist as though they were butter –he was faintly impressed. He's relieved when Merlin revives in the fresh air.

"Feeling better?" he asks, splashing water on Merlin's face with enthusiasm.

"Fine. Thank you, you can stop." Merlin straightens up. "It's the same as the crystal of Neahtid, it messes with my head. In those quantities..." He shook his head. "It hurts. I can see the future."

Arthur eyes him. "Well from what it looked like, you weren't enjoying what you were seeing."

"We need to cross, come on."

They begin to wade, reaching the other shore. Merlin's visibly better now. Arthur looks around. "Mist is still down," he observes. "Kay! _Kay! K-_!"

He's almost knocked down again by Merlin slamming a hand over his mouth "_Will you be quiet_?" hisses Merlin. "You just can't go five minutes without shouting your head off, can you? It's a different mist, you idiot! You've been in there a year. I think Royns is out there, Morgause is coming back to kill me, and you're yelling to let them know where we are! Just _shut up_!"

"All right, all right, settle down," says Arthur quietly, a little offended. If anyone has the right to be annoyed with anyone, he feels it isn't Merlin with him. Then he pauses. "Wait, a year?"

And so Merlin explains, as they recover their breath on the shore, about the enchantment that the sword had broken, the false Arthur in Camelot, the druid boy's rule...

Arthur begins by asking questions, details, before suddenly being unable to sit, pacing the shore. "I have to be there," he says in anguish, "I have to get there _now. _How can this have happened? How could I allow this to happen?"

"You didn't allow it, Arthur. You came to help Morgana and you were trapped. It could have happened to anyone. If you hadn't had your enchantment broken, I would have been trapped and killed there too."

"You brought the sword to break it," he says. "Thank you."

"We'll have time to thank later. It isn't really me you need to thank, anyway. Right now, we need to take it easy and stop and think and –" But he stops talking and gets up to follow the rapidly disappearing king.

Arthur is walking with purpose rather than direction: he has no idea where he is. The mist is impenetrable. Morgause, when she arrives, seems to appear in stages, in the swirling whiteness – at first he _thinks _he sees her, then he _knows_ he catches a sight of her, and then she is standing in front of him.

"That's a clever trick," she says, not even looking at him, but over his shoulder at Merlin. "How on earth did you manage that?" Then she looks at Arthur as though he is an interesting scientific specimen. Irritated by the delay, he raises the sword, and sees her gaze at it in unveiled astonishment. Then her eyes flash orange, she raises a hand to him, opens her mouth, and a bolt passes his ear, hits her square in the chest and sends her scattering into a thousand pieces. It happens faster than he could have imagined. It happens so fast that at first Arthur stares at the piece of ground Morgause previously occupied as though thinking he had momentarily lost her in the undergrowth. Merlin walks from behind him to his shoulder, ash-grey, wiping the dried blood away from his chin and looking grim. They stand side by side for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Had she been a knight, and had Merlin's thunderbolt been a javelin, he would be applauding Merlin for his shot right now, he thinks. He's seen everything: limbs hacked off, men bleeding from the head, men running mad in the heat of battle, and he hasn't blinked. Except now, when there's no blood and no screaming, he feels a little faint, as though this were the first casualty he had ever witnessed.

"She was a soldier," says Merlin, looking at the empty air previously surrounding Morgause. "As much as any knight."

"Yes," agrees Arthur, flatly. They both stare in silence for a moment, not noticing the mist gradually rolling back, revealing the damp valley. "Yes, you're right, of course." He sheaths the sword again. Merlin, Arthur thinks, is _very _different to how he remembers him. But then, he remembers a different Merlin. Maybe Merlin was always like this and he just never noticed. He clears his throat. "It's just a bit of a different way of doing things ,you know?"

They find Kay, or rather Kay finds them, shouting Merlin's name and appearing slightly wild-haired from a hedgerow. He's dragging the body of Royns. The crystal, Merlin thinks, only shows one future, and he saw the worst one. Kay sees Merlin and beams with relief. Then he sees Arthur, and his smile vanishes.

It's painful to watch, Merlin finds. Even as he tries to explain to Kay that _this _is Arthur, he can see the look of delight on Arthur's face turn to confusion, to hurt and finally to dismay, as the enormity of the situation he finds himself in dawns on him.

Kay is looking at Arthur with total distrust. Even hate. When he sees him, his hand goes to the pummel of his sword, and stays there. Arthur is used to many things from his knights: largely love and devotion, but mild irritation, exasperation and weariness have also been known, especially after the Dragon debacle. But never, ever hate. And never anything more negative than concerned loyalty from Kay. He's quite floored. Kay is listening to Merlin, and watching Arthur through narrowed eyes. He doesn't believe a word Merlin is saying, Arthur can clearly tell, Kay thinks Merlin's been tricked. He's waiting for Arthur to make a move, steeling himself for the attack, and he will strike. Arthur stares at his most loyal knight, who is, without a thought, contemplating regicide. Only one thing could drive him to this, Arthur believes, and that would be if Camelot's cause would be better off. If Camelot would benefit from Arthur's death.

How could this have happened?

"Merlin, shut up," Arthur snaps, finally, putting his shoulders back and wrapping his bravado around him like a cloak. "Kay, let go of that sword or use it, will you, you're getting on my nerves" and he shoves them both out of the way, stalking over the heath without looking behind him to see if they are following. If he is going to get their trust they have to believe he is himself, and the only way he can convince them of that is to start _acting_ like himself.

He hears them running after him.

They seem to have been discussing siege tactics for hours. Merlin crouches behind the wall irritably. It was tricky enough getting three people back into the castle without defenders or besiegers noticing, especially when two of them were trying to get panoramic views of both the sides.

"But that's obvious," Arthur is saying, pointing out some apparently obvious line of attack. "Ten knights could take out that entire flank."

"I know!" says Kay, eagerly, "that's what I've been saying!"

"Ten there..." muses Arthur, and proceeds to distribute his forces mentally across the plain below the castle. "But it's straightforward!" he concludes.

"I _know_," repeats Kay, forgetting to keep a low voice.

"Can you both be quiet, please?" asks Merlin, despondently and with no real hope of being listened to. He isn't.

"They've got lazy," says Kay, looking back down at the Mercians. "They've got lazy and they're sitting ducks."

"So what have you been waiting for?" exclaims Arthur, crossly.

"Y –" Kay stops. They both really are quiet for a moment.

Arthur is looking over the plain still, but colour has drained from his face and he is white with cold rage. "Me," he says. "You were waiting for me." His sets his jaw. "Come on."

The castle is quiet. It's morning, but not early. The hush is unnatural. Just as it gave Merlin the creeps, he can see Arthur bristling. As they walk the corridors, Merlin watches Arthur's face. It's clear there's going to be no quiet sitting down and thinking through. Arthur's determined. There are no more attempts at hiding. The king is now striding down the corridors. He discards the cloak that Merlin had given him, his royal armour glints in the sunlight as they cross corridors, the proud dragon glaring with displeasure at the still courtyards. They turn more corners and Arthur, increasing his pace all the time, reaches and rests his hand on the pummel of his sword. Kay, by his side, unconsciously reaches for his own. They both look grimly ahead, not sideways, not behind, where Merlin trails them. Servants slink away as he comes. Guards jump to attention and then watch the procession curiously. Kay and Arthur haven't been seen together for a long time. And those who have just left the grand hall do double-takes.

Arthur reaches the doors of the grand hall without a break in his momentum. He barely pauses at the door, as the guards stare at him in undisguised confusion. He doesn't even look at them, but reaches for the door, and swings it open. Even as he does it, both he and Kay pull their swords.

Merlin has seen Morgana in many moods over the years – grief, anger, hurt, betrayal – but throughout it all, even when facing death at his hands, she has maintained a certain quality of romantic poise. When Arthur storms into the hall, sword aflame and flanked by Kay and Merlin, Morgana's jaw drops. There's no other term for it – Morgana stares, slack-jawed, wide-eyed and completely pole-axed. Mordred reacts a little faster. He stands up, almost overturning the throne, but then seems unsure about his next course of action. The false Arthur sits unmoved, awaiting orders. The knights just goggle, looking from one king to the next.

If Arthur has noticed any of the stir, he certainly doesn't show it. He stands, sword glowing, face thunderous. He hasn't looked anywhere except at Morgana and Mordred. He looks at them, waiting, which is more dreadful than talking. They stare back, palely. Mordred's never seen _this_ future, thinks Merlin.

"Kill the traitors," says Mordred, finally, voice cracking on a dry throat, keeping Arthur's eye, but only just. It's difficult to say for sure, but Merlin thinks he sees a flash of fear in the icy eyes. "This is a trick, this is evil magic."

"Will you believe this child?" asks Arthur, as the knights uncertainly rise. He hasn't stopped staring at the dais. "Will you believe this child and will you believe _that _is me?" He points to the oblivious false Arthur with his sword. "That, who will let entire armies camp outside their castle with twenty different clear routes of attack? Do you believe _that _is me? I haven't been here for a year! And look at what's happened. Locked in a cave underground and look at what's happened."

The knights are, as one man, dithering. On the one hand, they can see the points Arthur is making. On the other, the king's son is giving them an order. On a third hand, Kay is standing beside Arthur, looking like a man convinced.

Any fear or weakness has gone from Mordred's stare. He narrows his eyes, and waves an arm. It happens quickly. Even as the false king leaps into action against Arthur, Morgana is on her feet, a look of cold hatred on her face. He could kill her, Merlin realises. He could, physically, kill her and at that moment, at that _particular moment,_ he feels enough anger and loathing for her to emotionally be able to kill her...again. But he owes Freya too much, he owes Freya Arthur's life and Camelot's existence. He raises a hand, and remembers from Avalon the channelling of strength, and somehow, holds her. As her eyelids drop, and her face relaxes, she looks like the old Morgana, before all the anger welled up inside her. But he can't move now, it takes all he has got to keep her there. He can hear the clash of swords, as the kings take each other on, and sees in the corner of his eye a flash of orange as Arthur wields the blade. He hears the knights drawing their own swords. They have decided where they stand. Arthur has convinced them. Merlin always knew he would.

Kay is advancing on Mordred. But the boy is standing in the middle of the madness, looking around him. He can see he is losing, Merlin notices, the boy definitely knows he's losing. But he doesn't _care_. He's assessing the situation, but his findings elicit no emotion. He turns, ignoring Kay's approach and stares at Merlin. Merlin hears him, in his head, for the first time. "Is _she _worth it?" the boy asks. And then he vanishes, in a whirlwind and in chaos, just as Morgause had once done. Merlin, focused on Morgana, is powerless to stop him. Arthur plunges the sword into his counterpart and, as the body flickers and throws at sparks, he pulls the sword out and looks around indifferently.

"Where's the boy?" he asks. Merlin can see the exhilaration in his eyes. He would never show his joy at his knights' unspoken trust, because he wants them to think it was expected, but Merlin can see it anyway.

"Gone," says Merlin, through gritted teeth. Although that isn't strictly true, so he adds, "for now."

"Fine. Next time I'll be ready," says Arthur, gung-ho still from his fight.

Merlin gently lowers Morgana to a sitting position. The girl rests as though in sleep.

Arthur looks at her. "She is as bad as him."

"I don't think so." Merlin says, softly. He relaxes his mental grip, keeping it on her, but relaxing it nonetheless. He can't feel her fighting back anymore. "Freya is coming for her," he adds, he knows she will be here soon. "She'll take her to Avalon and help her. We owe Freya," he continues, "and I made a promise." And God knows, thinks Merlin, I don't want to be an oath-breaker again.

Arthur sniffs with exaggerated disinterest and turns away. As he does so, he smacks Merlin on the shoulder in his old show of clumsy friendship.

"Come on!" he says to his eager knights. "It's Mercians next, let's get cracking." And he bounds out, with them following, clattering in their armour.

Merlin lets Morgana go completely, she seems to be sleeping, and he can feel Freya in the castle now, she's close. He walks to the door. The knights have created mayhem in the corridor, the entire castle is alive with noise and over-excited shouting. Refugees from the town, squirreled away in every corner of the castle, are suddenly poking out, having a look. He sees down the hall Gwen, drying her hands on an apron, looking back at him with tears in her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief He goes back into the deserted great hall, with Morgana silently sleeping, shuts the door on the noise and sits down to wait for Freya.

He feels tired to his bones. This is only the beginning of course. He hears Arthur giving one of his stirring speeches, indistinctly. There's a lot of hammering on shields and shouting of Camelot's name. There will be many more battles to come. Mordred will be back, eventually. He will have to talk to Freya about an alliance with the Ladies. And even before that, there are rumours of raiders from the east at the coast. There will be _many _more battles. But Arthur will be king and Albion will be formed, and he and Arthur will find a way to do it together, whatever needs to be done.

Merlin sits. And waits.


End file.
